Archive of Our Own

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Hello my loves!!! Been a while, yeah? Well, this story is back, for good. I will not stop until i finish this thing, and boy do i have big plans~ Now, I was hoping to have the entire thing rewritten at this point, but unfortunately, I overestimated my own writing speed. I have to work a lot, so I typically write on my days off. When I get home, I'm usually pretty whooped. We had three people quit within a week, and that REALLY took away my writing time since I had to help pick up the slack. So, I've instead decided to post what I already have. Chapters are taking longer because I'm trying to make them longer, so have some patience with me! A new chapter will be released at least once a month, but I'm aiming for every two weeks. With that said, I'm also working on some one-shots, two of them at the moment! If you enjoy my writing, keep an eye out for those. If you want some more frequent content while waiting on chapters, I've been making Bots on Janitor AI! It's a roleplay site and It's a lot of fun, and it's a little easier for my tired brain after work. As for the story, the same events will happen, but in different orders. I wanted to improve the pacing. I'll link my stuff down below, and without further ado, I hope you all enjoy the new and improved Impromptu Roomie! Have Any requests for a bot or a one-shot? Any general questions? Headcannons?Hop into my Tumblr askbox and send 'em in!  
My Janitor Ai!
 
My Tumblr!

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

You toss your arms up and over your head with your palms up and your fingers laced together. Your bones - stiff and aching at this point - give a subtle pop and a groan leaves your lips as you stretch away the stillness that's settled into your limbs after such a long time in one position. 
 
Three hours you’ve been at it now, and your eyes are sore from the strain and the blue light from your screen. Maybe staring at the computer for hours on end in the dark wasn’t the brightest idea, but you’re in a bit of a time crunch right now. Procrastination is not your friend, and this is what you get for putting off your assignments for so long.
 
Pushing away from your desk and standing up, you twist your body to and fro to loosen up your back before you shove your chair back under your desk. You should probably grab some food before bed. You shuffle out of your ‘room’ and down the stairs of your small loft style apartment. It's nothing fancy, but it's all you need. Your bedroom consists of a loft like area with a set of stairs leading down into the small living area. Branching off from there is the kitchenette, which sits in the space underneath the loft. Your bathroom sits comfortably nestled beneath the stairs. Small, but comfortable. Cozy.
 
Perfect for a temporary spot while you focus on college.
 
The hum of the microwave is almost comforting in the otherwise silent space, and the steady rotation of the cup noodles on the plate is hypnotizing in your tired state of mind. Although… Strangely enough, the humming appears to be getting louder. Then strangely muffled, like someone shoved cotton into your ears.
 
With a furrow of your brow, you lean in closer to the microwave. Are you hearing things? Are you really

that

sleep deprived?? No. No, It's definitely getting louder. Upon closer inspection and a tilt of your head, you quickly come to realize that it

isn't the microwave.

It’s coming from upstairs.
 
Oh god.
 
Is your computer finally exploding?
 
You're about to abandon your dinner in a panic when a sense of vertigo washes over you, and you grab onto the edge of your counter to keep yourself from falling over onto the floor. 
 
What the hell…?
 
You feel sick to your stomach and pins and needles poke incessantly at your extremities, numb and cold and uncomfortable as you stumble over your own feet like a newborn deer. There's popping in your ears, and then shrill ringing, and now the room is starting to spin, leading you to losing your balance. The last thing you hear is a thump and a shout upstairs before you hit the kitchen floor and everything fades to black.

“Psst.”

Pat, pat, pat.

“C’mon, wake up already…!”

Pat, pat, pat.

“Shit. shit, shit, shit…!”
 
Light tapping against your cheek is the first thing you feel when you start to rouse. Which is odd, considering you live alone. You peek your eyes open slowly with a confused grumble, and you feel the person next to you move away with a sigh that sounds immensely relieved. You blink up at the pale ceiling of your apartment for a few seconds before you push yourself up into a sitting position, careful of the dizziness that's still making your poor head buzz.
 
“Oh thank

god

, I thought I killed you,” Whines the voice next to you. It sounds male, a light and airy falsetto that you don’t recognize. You look over towards the sound, your eyes going wide and your muscles going stiff at what you see.
 
That's… That's a skeleton. A moving, blinking, speaking,

living

skeleton.
 
His expression molds into something sheepish, a lopsided grin taking over his face and revealing a row of straight, pearly teeth.

What

.
 
As if sensing your panic, the skeletons' sockets widen and he raises his hands in a placating gesture and his mouth opens as he prepares to speak again.
 
“Hey, hey, don't look at me like that, I know this looks- hey, wait,

no- please don't scream-!”

His voice raises in pitch and he clamps his boney hands over your mouth when he notices your change in expression, his own face now mirroring your panicked one. Your hands wrap around his wrists out of instinct and you almost want to vomit when you feel the ridges between bones. He takes a deep breath, and you can see his chest expand under the white shirt covering his torso.

Gross

.
 
“Look,” He begins, the bright pin lights in his otherwise dark sockets darting across your face, “I can explain. I’m going to remove my hands, and you're going to

not

scream. okay? Okay.”
 
You nod hesitantly, and he repeats the action as he slowly removes his hands, and your fingers slide off of his arms in the process. He leans back, giving you a moment to gather yourself, and you’re able to give him a once over to see what you’re dealing with.
 
This has to be a hallucination, surely. There's no other explanation for a living, breathing halloween decoration to be standing in the middle of your living room. But he feels real. He sounds real. You can hear him clear as a bell and you can remember the feeling of bone under your hands, and as far as you can tell he’s the only anomaly in the room. Everything else looks normal, so this can’t be a hallucination or a dream.
 
He’s looking at you. His head is tilted and his mouth is pressed into a firm, flat line. His sockets are wide and large, the two ‘pupils’ a completely different shape and color from one another. They change when he blinks. You see as the ridges above his eyes - where his eyebrows would be - raise in question. He seems to be expecting you to respond to him.
 
So, you do. With a deep breath in and out, you hesitantly meet his eyes before you reply. There’s an uncomfortable heaviness settled into your gut.
 
“Okay. Explain. Who are you, and what the

hell

is going on here?”
 
His blank expression brightens into enthusiasm. His posture relaxes, his eyes brighten, and he grins.

Something is going on in the multiverse, and no matter how hard he tries, Ink just can't seem to figure out what it is. There's nothing that he can see, and nothing that he’s been able to hear. It's just a gut feeling, his instincts telling him that something is wrong, and it's his job to find out what it is. But he can’t, and it's frustrating him to no end. Maybe it's a premonition? It has to be. There's nothing presently wrong. Whatever. Either way, it's

annoying.

All it takes is a quick swipe of his brush for Ink to be able to hop down into the doodlesphere, his eyelights automatically panning over the floating pages that act as doorways into the AU’s. Searching for anything out of the ordinary. But once again, it's a fruitless search. Everything looks to be perfectly fine and in order.
 
… Apart from a new little page filling up a space that used to be empty. He knows this place like the back of his hand, so the appearance of a new universe catches his eye immediately. And, being the ever curious creature that he is, Ink has to investigate.
 
“Well, would you look at that…,”
 
He mutters to himself, an excited grin stretching along his face. Is this all it was? Is this what he's been anticipating to the point of near madness? It’s not a bad thing at all! He was just overreacting, which really isn't too out of character for him now that he thinks about it. It's been a while since the last time a new universe materialized, and the sight of it sends a burst of pride and joy through his system. Hell, he's sure that even without the help of his vials he would have felt it.
 
Yeah, no, that's a lie.
 
But he’s excited enough that it could

almost

be true.
 
That excitement pumps through his bones as the bristles of broomy are once again brushed over the floor, opening a portal into this new world, and Ink hops in fully intent on finding out what it has to offer. What changes it presents, what stories and ideas it has to tell and expand on.

He learned a few things. Notably, that it was a waste of his time.
 
For one, the monsters haven't reached the surface yet. Not too unordinary for an infant world. Nothing is too different from the original apart from a few individual personality quirks in its ‘main cast’ that he was able to spot. No new storyline, no obvious change to the world itself to make it unique. All in all, it's rather boring, and his excitement drains fast. It has absolutely nothing to offer in terms of entertainment. Same old, same old.
 
After hours of exploring out of sight, he stares down at Ebott City from the infamous mountain, right next to the gaping hole that leads down into the underground. His expression is blank as he leans on his brush and an irritated sigh leaves his mouth. He had been

so

excited to see something new, only for it to be nothing extraordinary like he'd been hoping for.. A disappointing waste of his damn time.
 
Ink, needing to vent his frustrations somehow, belts out a loud groan and tosses his head back in a show of dramatics, completely unaware of the force he put into the action. It’s enough force for him to lose his balance. Feeling gravity pulling him back, he swings his arms out to right himself with an embarrassing squawk and letting go of broomy in the process. The helicopter motion of his arms to stay stable is in vain as he tilts too far and falls flat onto his ass anyways.
 
The hard stone hurts his tailbone and scrapes his palms, leaving him to hiss as he pushes himself back up. He takes it as his sign to leave and go home. Maybe he could go bug error.
 
Yeah, that sounds like fun.
 
Mind made up to make up for his lackluster day, he reaches for broomy, only for his fingers to come back empty. His head turns so fast that his neck audibly cracks, but his paintbrush is nowhere to be seen. His metaphorical heart sinks into his stomach at the revelation, sending panic through his body.
 
“

Crap!”

In hindsight, maybe he shouldn't have stood so close to the pit. In a state of mild panic, Ink scrambles up to his feet and tosses himself down the hole without a second thought. The fall is nothing for him, lasting only for about a minute - goddamn he forgot just how far down the underground really is,- and the landing is easy. He’s fallen from much higher in the past. The golden flowers are soft against his bare heels and toes as he finally hits the ground again.
 
The light from above is all he has to illuminate the small cave that serves as the entrance to the underground. Luckily for ink, he doesn't have to look too far. Broomy sits only a few feet away, and he swiftly swipes it up only to wince at the large crack that now mars the surface of the handle. Moving the brush into position to use it, he finds that much to his dismay it's more than just a crack. It’s nearly a clean break, the wood barely holding itself together.
 
…It’s an easy fix.
 
He just has to get home first. He tries to make a portal, but the broken handle makes it difficult to get a clean flick across the ground. When he finally gets a good sized puddle, it's sloppy, unstable, and closing fast. Not only that, but he can't seem to get a good location down, either.
 
Feeling almost desperate, ink clamps his hands around the sides to hold broomy together just long enough to give it one last attempt. He throws himself through the messy hodge podge puddle as soon as it's big enough to get his body through, using all of his weight to get through as fast as he can and hoping it gets him home. Or close to it, at the very least.
 
He hears a snap as he tumbles through. He falls head first onto a bed with enough force that he bounces right off of it and lands hard on a wooden floor. The wind is knocked out of him and leaves him gasping for breath and rolling onto his side. After a couple of moments, just long enough to catch his breath, he cracks his eyes open. The lights in his sockets extinguish at the sight of the jagged, broken handle of broomy, the brush half nowhere in sight.

“... So then I came downstairs and found you collapsed on the floor.”
 
It sounds like some made up story conjured up just to fuck with you, but when he presents the top half of a giant paintbrush you’re more inclined to believe him. Well, aside from the fact that he’s a living bag of bones. It's way too convenient and specific not to be true. He answers a few more questions of yours; What are monsters? Magic really exists?

What now?

The skeleton - Ink, he said his name was - runs a hand down his face. You notice that the bones of his forearms are a dark color, contrasting white bone on the rest of him. Not black, per se, but close. He’s sitting criss-cross on your coffee table, much to your displeasure, but he doesn't seem to care about how you feel about it. If anything he seems amused by your annoyance.
 
“What happens now is that I kind of have to stay here for the time being.”
 
Okay, no, pause.
 
“Absolutely not. I don't even know you, dude. Why on earth would I let you stay here? It's barely big enough for me!”
 
“Simply put, public panic. I

think

. I explained already that monsters haven't surfaced here yet, which means if I were to leave and be seen, then it could potentially cause a lot of issues. I assume so, anyways. We wouldn't want to find out the hard way though, now would we?”
 
If what he's saying is true, it would make sense. You’ve already seen him, after all, and your apartment will give him a safe space to get his shit together. Hesitant as you are, it’s hard to find a flaw in his logic. At least, it is at two in the morning. Your silence seems to be answer enough for him. You catch a cheeky smirk pulling at his mouth as he leans back on his palms.
 
“Thought so,”
  
You scowl at his sass. Smug little bastard.
 
“Alright. Whatever. It's late. I'll set you up a spot on the couch, I guess..”
 
He has the audacity to look offended, pressing a skeletal hand up against his sternum with an aghast look on his face. “whaaaaat? aw, cmon now, your bed is big enough for two!”
 
You visibly cringe. “Ew, no, fuck you.”
 
“I mean, if you're offering-”
 
You cut him off before he can finish. You're not dealing with this, not right now, no way in hell. “Nevermind. You're getting the floor.”
 
“I take it back.” He chortles, eye lights twinkling.
 
“Too late.”

The rest of the night is mostly uneventful. After bickering with your new skeletal roommate for a couple of minutes (

much to his amusement and your chagrin)

, you finally conceded to let him use the couch as long as he agrees to behave. You ignored the mischievous look on his face for the sake of your own sanity before you made your way back upstairs to your room. It's hard to believe a face made of bone can be that expressive.
 
After reaching the top, you take a moment to curiously look over the railing. Ink is settling himself onto your couch rather easily. You provided two pillows for him, and were actually pleasantly surprised when you found an extra comforter you didn't know you had. It's a bit worn, but it’ll do.
 
He doesn't seem to mind the lack of space to stretch. He took his scarf and sash off and tossed them over the back of your arm chair. One of his arms is up by his face, shoved under the pillow. You catch an odd expression flicker across his features - but you can't quite pinpoint what it is before his eyelights dart to meet yours. He raises a brow at you, and you retreat to your bed before he can question you.
 
You glance at your alarm clock as you crawl under your sheets, wincing at the time. Two in the morning. Doesn't look like you'll be getting too much sleep. At least your shift at the cafe starts at ten instead of eight this time, so you'll have a little bit of wiggle room to take your time in the morning.
 
Your eyes droop and you quickly fall into the abyss of sleep, not quite able to keep yourself from worrying about the stranger on your couch.
 
The next morning you head to work as normal, pretending the lump of blankets huddled up on your couch isn't there.

It was a slow day at work.
 
Once you got through the hectic morning rush, you barely got a trickle of customers coming through the doors. Even fewer choose to stay in the cafe, preferring to take their coffee to go.
 
Nothing notable happened. No rude customers, thank

god

. You don't think you could have dealt with any attitude very well today. You were exhausted, and the caffeine in your system was the only thing keeping you going. Some snide comment probably would have made you snap on somebody.
 
It must have been clear on your face, because when the end of your shift rolled around, your co-worker Kate had approached you.
 
“Girl,” She had said, sounding like a disapproving mother. “You look like you’re about to fall out on the floor. Procrastinating again?” Her neat, dark brows were drawn together and her lips were pursed. She cornered you in the break room, waiting for a response as she pulled her apron from her waist and started to fold it.
 
Your head thumped against the shitty plastic table. She snorted.
 
“... Pretty much, yeah.”
 
It was half the truth. She didn't need to know that another reason you didn't get enough sleep was due to a skeleton man falling through your ceiling and knocking you out cold from some sort of magical mumbo jumbo you don't really understand. 
 
Kate settles in a chair beside you, setting her folded apron down on the table in front of her as she does. She doesn’t needle you or try to preach at you, she just sits down and gives your back a few gentle pats. She understands, and she can relate. At least when it comes to putting things off until the last minute.

She’s only a little older than you are, and she goes to the local community college on the other side of town. Her parents are loaded and are funding her school expenses, so when you met her you were surprised she decided to work at this little hole in the wall cafe. She worked here for months before you were hired, and was actually the one who trained you.
 
Standoffish would be the first word you thought of to describe her, at the time.
 
But after a few weeks working together, she opened up to you about how she didn’t want to live off of easy money right off the bat. She wanted to be independent and capable of taking care of herself. While her parents paid for her college, her car payments and rent were paid for with her own earnings. She looked so proud of herself when she told you.
 
You may not be able to fully understand her, but you’d become quick friends after that.
 
“Would you like a ride home?” Her voice had become more gentle as she tilted her head down to meet your eyes, her thick black ponytail falling over her shoulder in the process.
 
You accepted without any hesitation.

Ink didn’t sleep.
 
He spent the night staring up at your pebbled ceiling, eye lights hazy and unfocused. It crossed his mind to explore your space, but he also didn't want to risk waking you up in the middle of the night, so he stayed put. It probably wouldn't have gone well for him.
 
He hadn't even realized how much time had passed until he heard the irritating droll of your ringtone from upstairs, the shrill noise being the only thing to shake him out of his own head. He listened. He could hear you shuffling up there, doing whatever it is that you were doing, and promptly shut his eyes when he heard your feet on the stairs.
 
He kept them that way until he heard the front door shut behind you.
 
Only then did he bother getting out of his blanket nest, his nose itching as he slings his legs over the side of the couch. The blankets are thrown aside and he stands before straightening his clothes.
 
He had heard you milling about in the kitchen earlier, which included the gurgling of a coffee pot. He could certainly use some of that right now.
 
He’s pleasantly surprised when he sees that there's still some left. You had even left it on so it would stay hot. How thoughtful. He pours himself a cup, deciding he’ll just take it black for today. There's more pressing matters he needs to worry about right now; Namely, that he’s stranded.
 
This isn’t the first time his brush has been broken. He’s been in a lot of fights and he’s taken a lot of falls, so having a damaged paint brush isn't an uncommon occurrence. Fixing it was easy. It takes a little time and a lot of magic, but repair is a simple task that takes little effort on his part.
 
The only issue is that he’s missing half of the handle. The important half.
 
And he can't get home until he has that half back.
 
He still has some of his magic, but the big stuff is going to be a no go right now. Perks of having no soul, he thinks to himself ruefully. He has to have a conduit, so to speak.
 
It’s time to make a game plan.
 
First things first he needs to figure out where exactly he is. He doesn’t know where his portal took him. He was aiming for the doodesphere, but with a broken brush he couldn't really control where he ended up. The only thing he knows for certain is that he’s still in the new au. Your reaction to him was enough to tell him you likely hadn’t seen a monster before, and he can confirm it just by looking out of the window. There isn't a monster in sight, only humans.
 
That's a good thing. The other half to his brush should be in the entrance to the underground, so all he needs to do is figure out where he is relative to Mt. Ebott. If he can get to the mountain, he can get broomy fixed and go home. Simple. He just needs to determine how far away he is from the mountain.
 
Ink tosses his head back with the rim of the cup to his mouth, downing the rest of the now lukewarm bean water in one swig before he abandons the cup on the counter. He starts by looking through different kitchen drawers; most humans have a ‘junk drawer’, right? If only he could find a piece of mail or a bill or something…
 
Nothing. The kitchen is small, so there isn't really very much for him to search here. Most of the drawers just have basic cooking tools.
 
He glances at the stairs, deciding your bedspace is probably going to be his best bet. He remembers seeing a computer, which will be perfect for finding information. Feeling renewed at the prospect, ink bounds up the stairs into the loft, taking two steps at a time and only almost tripping once.
 
Your laptop sits closed and plugged in on the desk. Your chair is pretty comfortable, he muses as he sits down, pushing the lid of the laptop up and turning it on. Mismatched eyelights wander curiously around the room as the old thing boots up.
 
Your bed is shoved into the far corner opposite of what he assumes is a closet, pushed against the wall. He takes in your made up sheets and the pile of stuffed animals piled up on one side. Heh. You’ve got your own little mountain cute, fluffy things. If the wall weren't there they'd probably be tumbling off.
 
It gives him an inkling (heh) of your personality.
 
The screen lights up in his peripheral, regaining his attention as it loads onto the login screen. There's some sort of character in the background, but he doesn't recognize it.
 
Oh.
 
Shit. It's password protected.
 
Ink groans in annoyance and plants his palms over his eyes, sliding down in the chair until his pelvis is practically hanging off of the seat. He probably should have anticipated that, and now he’s back to square one.
 
Theoretically, he could just

ask

you, but that's a lot less exciting. Plus, he doesn't know when you'll be back, and he's dreadfully impatient. And a little anxious.
 
An eye socket twitches.
 
After pushing out of the chair - nearly busting his ass in the process-, the closet is his next target. It has a sliding door, and he pushes it to the side to reveal… Well, clothes. Mostly winter stuff. A few jackets, sweaters, cardigans and the like. There’s a hamper on the left side, and his eyes sparkle when he spies a box next to it. He kneels and pulls the box open with ease, only to be immediately disappointed. Again.
 
Is everything in this universe a disappointment?
 
It's more winter clothing, things that can't be placed on a hanger. Hats, gloves, scarves, but nothing useful to him right now. Now he’s irritated. Ink has never been good with patience, preferring to get right into something and get shit done as soon as possible.  But in this situation his hands are tied. He has no other choice but to wait until you get home.
 
Fine. It's never his first choice, but he can play the long game.
 
He's careful to cover his tracks. To eliminate any trace he snooped through your things. It wouldn't do him any good to give you reason to distrust him so early.
 
Especially if you can be useful.
 
So he closes the box, he turns your laptop off, shuts the lid, and goes back downstairs. All he can do at this point is wait for you to get back.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

When you return home, you look like a zombie. Your hair is a tangled mess, and you seem on the verge of passing out. Ink had been lounging on the couch, half-watching a cheesy action flick—more lost in thought than engaged in the movie. He perks up when he hears the door creak open. As he sits up and takes a good look at you over the back of the couch, he suppresses a wince. A tight knot of guilt forms in Ink’s nonexistent stomach. He knows it’s his fault you look this way. Determined to help you out tonight, he springs into action. He’s technically an intruder in your home, freeloading for the foreseeable future, but this is the least he can do. After all, he can’t afford to have the only chance he has to return home getting sick or worse. That’s how humans work, right? No matter. With his mind made up, Ink jumps off the couch with a flourish, bounding around it to meet you with a playful grin. “Welcome home, honey!” he teases, nudging you further into the apartment. “Dude, what?” you reply, glancing back at him, but his grin only widens. You’re already so done. All you get is a mischievous giggle from the creature behind you. “Shush. I’m gonna take care of you. Just go with it.” He gently nudges you toward the bathroom, making it clear there’s no option to say no. You hear him bounding up the stairs to your loft, and you can only sigh, wondering what chaos he’s causing up there. He better not break anything. Stepping into the shower, you let the water run over your head, staring blankly at the wall as you try to process your new reality. A skeleton is living in your house. He’s part of a whole race of monsters from another world—an entire multiverse—and you’re just a little corner of it that’s recently come into existence. What about your memories? Your childhood? Did any of that even happen? A loud ‘fwump’ from upstairs jolts you out of your existential spiral. You dry off and get dressed, leaving the bathroom door open behind you, droplets of water tracing down your neck and shoulders. When you climb the stairs, your eyes widen at the sight before you. Ink has piled all the pillows and blankets he could find onto your bed, creating a cozy nest. Your laptop sits at the foot of it, and Ink is sprawled on the right side, arms crossed behind his head, a bowl in his lap. “Took you long enough,” he chirps, his eyes crinkling in a smile. His expression falters when he notices the haunted look on your face, but he quickly masks it. He pats the spot next to him, urging you closer. “Come on, come on.” You comply, though your movements feel almost robotic as you settle beside him, pulling your knees to your chest and resting your chin on them. Ink tugs your computer forward, his voice softening. “Movie?” “Mm.” You slowly type in your password, and once it's done, he tilts the screen toward himself, scrolling through your FlickNet account. After a moment, he finds a rom-com and sets the laptop between you, along with the bowl of popcorn he had cradled. Not the healthiest choice, but he didn’t want to risk burning down your kitchen. He grabs a handful of popcorn, popping it into his mouth. You watch in fascination as the food disappears into the darkness of his jaw without a trace. As you start to relax, a question slips out. “... You can eat?” He snorts, looking at you with half-lidded eyes. “Uh-huh. Sure can.” There’s amusement in his voice as he continues, “Magic, of course. It’s a bit harder to convert human food, but I can do it.” “Whoa.” “Whoa, indeed.” Ink shakes the bowl in invitation, and you finally take some popcorn. He’s surprised at how well you’re handling this, but he’s not about to question his luck. He’s on a comfortable bed with gentle company and a silly movie playing. You could’ve kicked him out, but here you are, letting him stay. He feels grateful. As you settle in, the earlier tension fades, easing his guilt. Overall, things could be worse. When you grow quiet, Ink assumes you’re too tired to keep asking about his biology. But halfway through the movie, he grows antsy. “Think there’s any way you can get me to Ebott?” Your eyes flutter open. It takes a moment to process his question, but you answer without hesitation. “No.” Ink is taken aback. No? Sure, you’re not obligated to help him, but he was depending on you, and hearing that refusal hits hard. Gritting his teeth, he turns to face you, irritation flickering in his eyes. “No?” He echoes, the lights in his sockets glowing brightly—left shaped like a red exclamation point, right like an orange question mark. It would be charming if he didn’t look so frustrated. You meet his gaze with a deadpan expression, locked in a silent staring contest until you break it with a resigned sigh. “Look, it’s not that I don’t want to; I just can’t.” He continues staring, a frown forming on his face, his cheeks puffed in a way that makes him look almost like he’s pouting. “Ebott is hours away, and I don’t have a car. I couldn’t take you even if I wanted to.” Ink deflates, letting out a heavy sigh. Oh. “... I see. Sorry.” “Yeah.” An awkward silence settles between you, the movie playing on but neither of you paying attention. The tension is thick, and you wish Ink had kept quiet. You had just started to relax, and now you feel wound tighter than a spring. On the flip side, Ink realizes he’s stuck. For once, since becoming what he is now, he’s helpless. Without the other half of broomy, he can’t just hop into a portal and go wherever he wants. He’s at the mercy of a human— a side character, a stranger who could toss him out onto his ass at any moment. You should be angry at him for being upset with you over something out of your control. He has no right to be angry; it’s not your responsibility to help him. But… You can’t help but sympathize. He looks distraught, and from what he’s told you, he’s completely stranded. A weight suddenly slumps onto your shoulder, and you glance down to find Ink cuddled up to you, arms wrapped around your waist. You want to push him away—what the hell, man?—but his grip is tight, and you notice his phalanges are trembling. With a heavy sigh, you decide to let him stay despite your reservations. As you sit there, the movie plays on in the background, but you find it hard to focus. Ink’s presence is surprisingly comforting, despite the initial shock of having a skeleton snuggled up to you. You lean back against the pillows, allowing yourself to relax. The warmth radiating from his bony form brings a sense of calm, and slowly, the tension in your body begins to fade. Before long, your eyelids grow heavy. You listen to the voices chattering away in the movie, the soft sounds enveloping you like a blanket. The gentle hum of Ink's breathing soon lulls you into a sense of tranquility. You let out a soft sigh, and the world around you blurs as you drift off to sleep. Ink, however, is still wide awake, his mind racing with unwanted thoughts. He feels the steady rise and fall of your body against his, and as the seconds pass, he notices a soft thumping sound—a rhythmic pulse that seems to echo in the stillness of the room. Curiosity piques as he focuses on it. “What is that?” he wonders aloud, lifting his head slightly to listen more closely. The sound is soft and mesmerizing, a gentle thumping that seems to come from within your chest. Your soul? No. No, souls don't do that. He shifts a bit, resting his cheek against your shoulder, and closes his eyes, allowing the sound to wash over him. That must be your heart. The heartbeat is strange to him, unlike anything he’s encountered before. There’s a warmth and life to it that captivates him. It feels like a lullaby, an anchor to distract him from his racing mind. He finds himself drifting closer to sleep, the comforting cadence lulling him into a state of peace. As your heartbeat continues to thrum steadily, Ink’s thoughts start to blur. It’s the first time he’s ever listened to a heartbeat. It's calming. He can’t help but let his eyelids grow heavy as he sinks deeper into the soothing rhythm, finally allowing himself to nod off, comforted by the gentle sound that surrounds him.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

It’s been six months since Ink fell through your ceiling. 
 
It was painfully awkward at first. When you had woken up to find Ink sleeping with his head on your chest that second night, you nearly shrieked. It had taken some careful maneuvering to get out from under him. You wouldn’t think a creature made out of bone would be heavy, but Ink sure proved you wrong there. He stayed asleep, thankfully unperturbed by your gentle jostling. You've come to learn that Ink is an especially heavy sleeper.
 
After that fiasco, you insisted he stay on the couch as agreed.
 
He complied. Okay, well… at first. It only took him a few days before he started sneaking into your bed in the middle of the night and you’d wake to find him huddled under your blankets. He wasn’t handsy or anything so it honestly really wasn’t worth fighting him over, so you eventually just accepted it. Not like it could get any weirder.
 
Steadily the two of you grew to understand each other's routines and work around them. Ink was very artsy you found out, which shouldn't have come as a surprise considering his name. You gave him access to your old art supplies to give him something to do while you were gone and one of his eyes had turned into a star. The other was an exclamation point. That was cool as hell.
 
It made you feel good to make him happy.
 
Even if you’ve had to make a lot of art supply runs over the months. Ink promised to pay you back once he got his ‘broomie’ back, and you

will

hold him to that, because good lord he can go through paper.
 
Things are comfortable.
 
You let Ink sleep as you head off to work. He’s been doing that a lot lately, which honestly has you a little worried. You know why, you aren’t dumb. He’s explained to you his role, what his job is. He told you about his friends. His past epic (his words not yours,) battles. Everything. And yet he’s holed up here in some fresh out of the oven universe without a way home. It wouldn’t have been a surprise if you woke up one day to find him gone, off to get his brush back together alone so he can go back to normal.
 
But he has yet to do that, leaving you wondering what's going on in that skull of his.
 
—
 
Ink doesn’t know why he isn't in more of a hurry to leave. 
 
He really should considering the circumstances, and he’s been gone for around half a year at this point. Well, half a year in your worlds time. Different universes have different time speeds, with the areas in between being particularly quick. He’s

pretty

sure as far as the multiverse itself is concerned, he’s only been gone for maybe three months at the max.
 
It’s selfish, really. And irresponsible. Dream will absolutely be on his ass as soon as he gets home, but… well, this feels like a vacation. He loves his job more than anything. It gives him a purpose. But sometimes even Ink gets tired. This has been kind of like a vacation.
 
I mean, c’mon. Free place to crash, free food, company in the form of an odd little human who just so happens to be kind enough not to kick him out? He really scored a jackpot.

However…

Ink does have a teensy, weensy little problem. His vials. This universe is able to keep his supply stable, but not steady. If he doesn’t get a move on soon he’s going to run out completely. He could

technically

chug some regular paint from like Home Cheapo or something as a last resort, but he would rather not.
 
He can’t do anything about that right now, as much as he’d like to. It doesn't stop him from being worried. And bored. He wants to go outside.
 
…He remembers the first time you brought him outside. You put him in disguise, which he found funny. It was a bit of a difficult accomplishment since you had to find something that would cover him without drawing too much attention, with it being as warm as it was. Not that it mattered to him, since temperature doesn’t really bother him anyways.
 
The shirt was black and had long sleeves, but it was thin enough to pass for the weather. On top of that you had him put a vest on in order to cover the ridges of his ribs and the hollowness in his stomach area since the shirt caved into the empty space. The vest had a hood to cover his skull. His pants were some baggy jeans with a very tight belt so they wouldn't fall off of his hips, and then some tennis shoes.
 
His scarf is a great cover for his mouth and you tape some sunglasses to his head. He passed surprisingly well as a human with all of his bones covered.
 
Once you were satisfied with how he looked you had taken him to a park. It was big and cute, thriving with children and couples of all ages. Play areas littered a lot of the grass and there were tons of paths for people to walk or ride their bikes. It’s the kind of place Blue would absolutely adore if he were here.
 
But Ink was quick to find out that that wasn’t the destination. Instead, you led him over to the lake, where you sat him down and handed him a bag full of bread crumbs.
 
That day, Ink learned that ducks are cute and geese are the bane of the earth. He had divots in his forearm by the time the two of you left. Since when does such a bloodthirsty animal exist? Despite the new trauma, though, Ink had fun. It was nice doing something so… mundane, for once.
 
–

“Ink, they aren’t going to ju- Oh my god they’re jumping you.”

“HELP ITS BITING ME GET IT OFF GET IT OFF GET IT OFF-!!!”

–
 
When autumn fell he did a

lot

of drawing. The sight of the ground covered in leaves of various shades of red, yellow, and brown had his bones practically vibrating with inspiration. Even when the rain started to fall, it was beautiful. He never noticed how beautiful the earth can be until he was forced to actually pay attention to it.
 
Rain steadily turned into thunderstorms, leaving the world outside dreary and dark. Ink found himself fascinated with the spectacle of thunder and lightning. Something he had always been aware of as a concept but never really experienced. It, too, was beautiful. 
 
One evening during a storm you had sat by the window, just watching the rain as hundreds of stray droplets raced down the glass. The pale light filtering through painted you in a gentle blue hue that contrasted the rest of the warm light in the apartment. You had been so engrossed in watching the wet streets outside that you hadn’t noticed Ink sketching you.
 
The sketch frustrates him. He has the shapes down in a rough draft of messy pencil lines, but he can't get it to look quite right. Every time he tries to recreate it to get it right it's always missing something. Something he just can’t grasp no matter how hard he tries.
 
–

“Is surface weather always so… temperamental?”

“Depends on the time of year,”

–
 
The hardest part about being stuck in place is days like these. Days where you are at work or off doing some other boring human errand, leaving him all alone for most of the day. He hates it, the silence. His only comfort is that your home is so lived in, so obviously occupied that he can prove to himself he isn’t isolated in empty nothingness. 
 
Still, he can feel himself getting antsy. It was when he was pacing restlessly through the living room that an idea struck him. He’s changing into his disguise - replacing the vest with a hoodie - and slipping out of the door before he has time to think about consequences.
 
It’s a short walk down to the cafe where you work, only about three blocks from the apartment complex. You’d shown him on one of your excursions outside. He made sure he noted it on his scarf.
 
This is the first time he’s left by himself.
 
When he walks through the doors he's greeted by the comforting smell of coffee and pastries. You and some coworker are busy behind the counter, making drinks or bagging food up to get customers checked out. It’s best that he doesn’t make himself obvious, so he finds himself a seat in one of the emptier corners.
 
Its a good time to people watch. Observing humans has never been Ink’s first choice of entertainment, but he doesn't really have anything else to do right now. He watches as customers come and go. He watches you and some dark haired lady buzz around like bees, and he watches people who walk past through the windows.
 
He zones out. So dull… How do you live like this?
 
Moments later a commotion snaps him out of his own head. His eyes drift over to the counter. You’re at the register, trying to give a drink to some gym bro looking dude. He seems agitated for whatever reason and is taking it out on you. He doesn’t see much of an issue - not his problem - until the guy starts to raise his voice.
 
The man slams the cup down on the counter and Ink finds his sockets narrowing in trepidation. He can’t hear what the guy is saying from his corner, but the look on your face tells him enough. Okay, nevermind. Hell no. Ink’s big brown scarf hides his scowl as he pushes himself up. The chair scrapes against the tile and the grating noise draws some attention, but Ink doesn't notice. His focus is zeroed elsewhere.
 
The skeleton is silent as he sidles up behind the jerkwad.
 
“Problem?”
 
The familiar voice catches you off guard. Your gaze drops from the angry man’s face to the figure behind him and you swear you can feel the exact moment your stomach drops. The figure lowers their sunglasses just enough to wink at you, the sockets that greet you just confirming your fear.
 
You can’t intervene without making even more of a scene.
 
A cold sweat breaks out on the back of your neck and leaves you feeling clammy. You have no choice but to watch as the man turns to your smaller very-not-human friend. You fidget with your apron.
 
“This doesn't involve you,”
 
Ink is unperturbed and merely puts his hands on his hips. His eyelights travel up and down the brutes body, sizing him up behind the sunglasses sat precariously atop the ridge of his nose… hole.
 
“It does now,” he answers coolly, standing tall despite the fact he doesn't even reach the guy's collarbones. He casually shrugs a shoulder. “Maybe stop harassing random employees just because you don't remember what you ordered.”
 
Ink fights back and amused snort at himself.
 
The man, trying to make himself look bigger, crosses his arms and straightens his back. He is, quite literally, looking down on Ink. Who still remains just as unfazed. In fact, he leans forward in challenge when dickhead speaks again.
 
“Mind your own goddamn business.”
 
“No,”
 
You have a feeling that if you don't intervene you're going to end up having to call the police, and stars you

really

don't need the monster you're harboring involved with the cops. His disguise wouldn't do him much good in that situation and then the both of you would be in very, very hot water.
 
You don't get the chance to break it up.
 
All you can do is watch in absolute horror as Ink leans in as close as he can to the disgruntled man and lowers his sunglasses just enough.
 
No one else can see it, apart from you and the other human. His back is to you so you can't see his face, but the way his spine goes rigid tells you all you need to know.
 
“Wh- the fuck…?” Pale. His face has gone sheet white, and Ink

relishes

in it. Gone is the cocky son of a bitch persona he had just been flaunting like an overly exuberant peacock. Now he looks like he might piss himself.
 
Inks teeth quirk up into a pleased grin behind his facemask. He lets the glasses fall back into place and leans back casually. “Whoa there, my guy. You look like you’ve seen a ghost! Maybe you should head home before you

pass out

or something.”
 
It's a thinly veiled threat. Barely. Ink is bluffing. He's not stupid, he's not about to fight this bigger human in a cafe filled with more humans. He's completely relying on his face and human superstition.
 
Why, he might as well be a harbinger of death!
 
Much to Inks relief - and yours - the man seems to be convinced he just met the grim reaper face to face and makes a break for the door.
 
You are furious. 
 
It's not that you want to control your skeletal friend, but you thought that it was agreed that he would

not

leave the house without you accompanying him. He deserves his freedom, but it’s way too risky for the both of you for him to be out and about like this alone.
 
It’s lucky that the other patrons have gone back to minding their own business. You round the counter and grab Inks wrist before tugging him towards the break room. He yelps as his smaller body is helplessly dragged after you.
 
The door clicks shut and Ink’s hands go up in surrender when you round on him with all the fury of a thousand suns.
 
“What the

fuck!?

”
 
He shrugs and his fingers splay out as if to say ‘what do you mean, what?’
 
“What was that?” you continue. Your heart is pounding in your ears and it’s giving you a headache. “What were you thinking?”
 
Oof, someones snippy. Gloved phalanges pull down the scarf covering Ink’s mouth. His lips(?) are pursed, and his sunglasses are swiftly pulled off and tucked into the front pocket of his hoodie. His voice is sassier than he deserves when he finally bothers responding, “What was I doing? I was saving your ass, that’s what I was doing?”
 
“From what? A rude customer? I work in customer service, Ink, I'm kind of used to that shit. I don’t need you to play knight in shining armor over some coffee drama.”
 
“A thank you would be nice,”
 
“Go shove a cactus up your coccyx.”
 
Silence. The two of you glare at each other, Inks head held high and haughty even despite the fact the oversized hood makes him look hella goofy. He seems to realize this, because he pulls it down, exposing his skull. Neither of you say a word until the skeleton you desperately want to pop in the mouth right now raises a brow ridge at you. As far as Ink is concerned, you’re overreacting. He didn’t have to help, compelled as he was to do so. Where’s the gratitude?
 
You have to force yourself to calm down. The grit in your teeth is making your jaw hurt and the last thing you need is to damage your teeth. “You shouldn’t even be here. What would you have done if you got found out?”
 
“I would have handled it,” he argues. Like it would have been easy. 
 
“Says the guy who was worried about ‘unprecedented consequences’ in the first pla-”

WHAM

“Hey, ___, what just happened? Where did you-?”
 
Silence. 
 
Kate is standing in the doorway with her mouth agape as the door slowly swings shut behind her. Her gaze is locked on Ink, eyes wide with shock before they dart to you, and then back to him. Ink grins sheepishly and then shoots her finger guns.
 
“___-”

Oh, fuck.

“...I can explain-!”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Explain you did.
 
You tell Kate everything, trying to be as quick and concise as possible. She’s told what exactly Ink is, with said skeleton interjecting very unhelpfully, which earns him a smack against the back of the skull. It may have been helpful, had his attempted explanation not been so long winded and overly detailed. You don’t have the time for that. You

are

still at work.
 
Then she learns where he came from. How he fell through your ceiling and now is kind of just living with you for the time being until he can figure out how to get home. The very basics of the situation. You promise to give her the details another time.
 
“So. A living, walking, talking skeleton.”
 
Your poor co-worker looks exasperated, rubbing her temples with her dark brows drawn together in stress. Then, as realization dawns on her, her eyes snap open and land on you.
 
“

This

is why you’ve been so tired. You said this has been going on for… fuck, half a year?”
 
Your response is a sheepish glance at your feet. “... Yes.”
 
“Jesus, you should have told me!”
 
“How could I? Oh, hey Kate, I have a living skeleton rooming with me now. Yeah, he fell through my ceiling. Crazy, right?”
 
Kate opens her mouth. Then shuts it. “You know what? Fair enough. But um… what do you plan on doing with him? He can't live with you forever, and it’s already been too long if you ask me. I highly doubt he’s paying rent.”
 
Leave it to Kate to bring up the important stuff, you think wryly. It earns her a flat look from you, and she just shrugs as if to say ‘what?’. You know she’s just looking out for you and making sure you aren’t being taken advantage of but… still.
 
Ink can do nothing but watch the exchange with growing irritation. It’s not like he asked for this. To be here. It was just a stupid mistake that’s left him stuck. Excuse the hell out of him for not wanting to travel who knows how far with the risk of being caught as a monster in a world where monsters haven't even surfaced yet. What’s worse is that the two of you are talking as if he isnt sitting right fucking here.
 
His sockets narrow as he tries to speak. 
 
“I’m right here yo-”
 
“Shush.” You’re holding your hand out towards him, giving him a look he can’t quite decipher. Did you just… shush him? Like a child? And then you go back to speaking with your coworker like it's no big deal, leaving him silently fuming. “Kate, it’s complicated. I told you I’d give you the details later,”
 
… he stops listening after that. 
 
Fine. It’s clear he’s not part of the conversation here, so he takes a seat at the little round table in the middle of the room. He slouches in the chair and taps his feet in irritation, eyelights dull and glued to the wall. He… knows it's probably a little unfair to be mad at you. It’s no secret that he has a habit of putting his foot in his mouth.
 
But he’s an adult. Even if you mean well, he can’t help but feel irritated that you’re doing the talking for him.
 
“Look, Kate.” Your voice is pleading as you address your friend and coworker, hoping she’ll understand. “I know this is… crazy. Really fucking crazy. But please, I'm begging you, don't tell anybody.”
 
The woman’s expression is difficult to read. It’s carefully blank as she continues to regard you and your monster roomate with contemplative eyes, the latter of which staring at the wall with what looks like a pout. Finally, she lets out a noise somewhere between a sigh and a groan and her shoulders deflate.
 
“Yeah,” Kate runs a carefully manicured hand through her thick hair. “Yeah, I'll keep quiet. Your secret is safe with me. The last thing I would want is the government on your doorstep.”
 
You quite nearly fall over into the floor with relief.

Ink stays in the breakroom until your shift is over.
 
The walk home is dreadfully quiet. The world around you is lively; people going to and fro and the sounds of birds chirping from the trees. Sounds of children playing and squealing as you pass the park. Dogs barking in the distance. The air has been getting chillier as of late, but it’s a nice day when the wind isn't blowing.
 
Yet Ink hasn’t said a word, which is concerning. It’s unusual for the normally chipper skeleton to be so quiet. You know it probably has to do with the conversation that just went down, but it's out of character and it’s worrying you.
 
When you finally get back home, it feels like the odd tension multiplies tenfold. It's almost suffocating. Quietly, the door clicks shut behind you. It almost feels like a death knell, this uncomfortable silence.
 
“...Really?” Ink begins, his voice breaking the silence so suddenly that it nearly makes you jump. He turns enough to look at you over his shoulder, his expression one you can't quite read. You frown at that.
 
“What?”
 
He opens his mouth to respond, only to snap it shut with an audible click of his teeth. He turns away and shakes his head harshly. Whatever it is that's on his mind, he's decided not to share.
 
There's no point. He knows what he has to do.
 
“... Nevermind.”
 
It's clear he wants to let it go, to forget what happened today didn't happen at all, but you don't think it's something you can let slide. What he did today could have gone so much worse, and you need to talk about it.
 
“... Ink-” he Interrupts you. Holding up a hand, he gives you an almost pleading look. 
 
“Can we talk about this tomorrow? Please?”
 
It would be better to get the conversation over with than to let it fester. But… you haven't seen him this put out before. So, with a sigh, you relent. Your shoulders drop and you sigh, giving the colorful skeleton a curt nod.
 
“... Okay.”
 
The rest of the night is filled with an odd tension. The sound of the TV is the only thing that keeps you sane as the hours drag on, given how silent your companion is suddenly being. His expressions are hard to read. You can’t get a grasp on what could be going on in his skull.
 
Even when bedtime crawls around and you feel him crawl into bed behind you, he's quiet and subdued. There’s none of his usual enthusiasm or playful teasing, and it sets you on edge. You're almost afraid to go to sleep. Not because you fear he may do something to you, no, of course not. Even if you don't really know him as much as you'd like to think you do after so much time, you aren't scared of him. You are fairly certain he would never hurt you.
 
But something just doesn't feel right. Despite that, the anxiety doesn't keep you up long. Eventually sleep claims you and pulls you under, the odd energy fading away as sleep takes over.
 
And in the morning, when you wake up… Ink is gone.
 
The first thing you did - after calming down - was call Kate. She was at your apartment in minutes, pulling you into her car before speeding off into town with a tenseness in her muscles that only made your building anxiety worse.
 
Days pass.
 
You hadn’t realized how different Ink made your life until he was suddenly gone. Odd as the situation is, you had gotten used to the skeleton being around. Loneliness wasn’t something you really noticed until you had someone in your home for so long, as annoying as he was sometimes. You had grown used to movie nights or beating his ass at Mario Kart. For the longest time, you’d forgotten what it was like to have a real friend around so often.
 
You had even gotten used to him in your bed, as weird as that sounds.
 
You… miss him.
 
Everyday, Kate tries to help you search for him. It’s difficult with your work schedules, but she makes sure time gets set aside to go on searches in different parts of the city. It’s more difficult than you thought it would be; Ink had taken his disguise with him. Although the clothes are yours and easily recognizable… there are just too many people to pick him apart, if he’s even daring to go out in public in the first place.
 
Your searches have been fruitless. It dawns on you, a week after his disappearance, that you may never see him again. You care about him, but who’s to say he cares about you? He could already be halfway to Ebott by now, ready to go back home without giving you a second thought. That hurts more than you'd like to admit, but you can’t really blame him.
 
You know he wasn’t happy about you shutting him down during the explanation to Kate. That’s another reason you had wanted to talk to him that night. You wanted to apologize and explain yourself, only to get shut down. That feels fitting.
 
But was that really enough to run him off?
 
You can't help but wonder what else you could have done wrong.
 
—
 
Kate didn’t want to get involved with this.
 
She cared about you, really she did, but she didn’t sign up for skeletal shenanigans. Her life was going well. She let her parents set up savings for her just in case, but she’s been doing fantastic on her own. She thrives off of her independence. She makes enough to pay her rent and bills at the cafe and she doesn’t currently have any debt. Even if she did, she’s lucky enough to have a wealthy family to back her up.
 
You don’t have that.
 
As little as Kate wanted to get involved with the monster you’re harboring, she’s the only help you have. In her opinion, the skeleton being gone was the best thing for you. His issues weren’t your problem, and you didn’t deserve to have him freeloading off of you. That’s how she sees it, anyway. You deserve better.
 
But it’s clear you’re worried. 
 
Besides, there’s always the possibility he gets found out and gets linked back to you. And that would spell nothing but bad for you. 
 
Which is why Kate finds herself preparing for the worst.
 
Best case, you find the skeleton. Worst case, you need to get out of dodge. Kate has never been more thankful for her family's wealth until now. Every day that goes by without finding your little friend, she goes in and takes a healthy but inconspicuous amount from her savings.
 
In cash.
 
She’s also been checking her old Jeep. She stopped using it after it kept giving her problems. It’s in good repair, currently. Just replaced before it could have another problem. The thing is a bit dingy, having been her first vehicle. A gift for her sixteenth birthday. Unreliable as it is, it would be a good getaway car, if worse comes to worse. Black paint, tinted windows, plenty of space for clothes and food or anything else that may be needed if you’re on the run.
 
Kate’s nails click against the metal as she drums her fingers along the dented hood, lost in thought. She had hoped to retire this old thing for good.
 
Hopefully, she will.
 
But something tells her that it’s going to be needed soon.
 
…
 
She’d best get the tire pressure checked.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The city is quiet at night. Well, maybe

city

is too strong a word. It’s more of a simple college town than anything. Too big to qualify as small, but not quite big enough to offer any sort of night life for anybody apart from a bar or two. It’s actually kind of funny how little alcohol tolerance humans have, Ink thinks to himself as he watches two human men stumble out of the door of the pub he’s currently staked out at. They part ways, one of them starting to sag down the sidewalk. The other one only makes it a few feet before he falls over into a nearby ditch.
 
As hilarious as that is to Ink… He’s a little stuck. And broke.
 
The only cover he could find was behind a dumpster. Sneaking around had been pretty easy up until now. As long as he waits for nightfall, Ink pretty much has the entire town to himself for the most part. At least, it was until he stumbled across the bar a few blocks from your apartment building.
 
It’s well past dark out now. All he had been trying to do was sneak through the parking lot to the treeline, but then humans started slowly trickling out of the building, forcing him to duck for cover. Everytime Ink thinks he may have a shot at slinking away, someone else comes outside. An employee taking out the trash, for example, which had him scrambling to press himself into the shadows against the wall so he wouldn't be seen. It’s a miracle that he

wasn’t.

The tired looking human had been only a few feet away. Then there was that idiotic drunkard falling flat on his face. After that, a gaggle of frat boys pulled into the parking lot, ready to get shitfaced.
 
Jeez, don’t these people have anything better to do on a friday night?
 
Ink has been stuck sitting on the wet pavement behind this dirty dumpster on the side of the building for what feels like forever… but it probably hasn't actually even been fifteen minutes yet. It feels longer, just from the smell alone. He had briefly contemplated just waltzing through the parking lot. He still has his disguise, after all. But then he’d have to worry about someone asking him why the hell he was hanging around the garbage or reporting him for being dressed like a robber.
 
All in all, it’s been a shitty past few minutes.
 
Finally though, the universe seems to grant pity on him. There’s nobody in sight apart from the guy napping in the dirt.
 
Completely out cold.
 
With nobody around.
 
Jackpot! Ink has an idea.
 
Taking a quick look both ways, the skeleton pushes himself to his feet and sneaks away from his hiding spot, carefully approaching the unconscious human. He looks middle aged, with salt and pepper hair and a wrinkled face. There is also a weird, greasy sheen over his skin. Gross, when's the last time this guy has bathed? With a slightly perturbed expression on his face, Ink looks the man over. The monster is quick to notice the protrusion in the man’s pocket, leaving him with a satisfied grin. Perfect, exactly what he was looking for. Reaching slowly just in case, his phalanges quickly pluck the wallet peeking out of the man's pocket. The brown leather is worn and scratches uncomfortably at his fingertips as he sets at opening up his prize.
 
It opens easily with a snap of the strap. The inside is just as frayed and dilapidated as the outside, the stitching barely keeping the pockets in place. The entire thing looks like it might fall apart with one wrong move. And, as far as Ink is concerned, it's full of junk. There’s an ID and a few cards, but what he needs is cash. Ink knows he needs money for any kind of bus tickets or cab fare. However, using a card runs the risk of him getting traced. Cash needs to be his go to right now. But so far? Nothing. 
 
Well, fuck.
 
He supposes if worst comes to worst he can always go to an ATM and see if he can drain the card without a password or something. Unlikely, but he doesn't have many other options. There’s a small pocket in the middle, but it’s only full of old receipts. His fingers catch on something cold along the side, and turning the wallet over yields a zipper. Tugging it to the side, Ink finds what he’s looking for.
 
The money is crumpled as it’s pulled free from its leathery prison. Once it’s in Inks grubby little hands, he tosses the wallet down next to the man carelessly. He begins to count it out, but a new car pulling into the lot makes him freeze. Ah, shit. He should probably do this elsewhere. Luckily for Ink, he still has his speed, and he zips across the parking lot until - finally! - he breaks through the treeline just as the car parks and two humans step out.
 
That could have ended badly.
 
Now the plan is to actually get into town.
 
He uses the trees to his advantage, using them to hide as he makes his way towards the center of town. Hiding doesn’t get to last very long; eventually, he has to actually step out into the open of the streets. Ink pulls his hood down farther over his skull as he meanders down the sidewalk, trying to look casual and inconspicuous. The streetlamps make him feel exposed as they shine down on him and the shadows they cast mock him. Now that he’s alone, he can’t fight back the homesickness that stirs in the empty pit of his chest. He misses his doodlesphere, he misses his friends. Hell, he even misses you.
 
You…
 
Growing attached wasn’t part of the plan. You’re nothing but an extra in the grand scheme of your world. In comparison to him, you’re a concept. An idea. An empty husk who means little in the grand scheme of things. He protects the Au’s because he's protecting the ideas behind them. Those ideas keep him alive. Living with you for as long as he’s had to has certainly thrown a wrench into his worldview. In his perspective, you, a side character, had taken center stage. A first for him.
 
Not once has he ever really processed during his time as a guardian… the people he was protecting in the process.
 
And it made him feel something that’s a rarity for the artist.

Guilt.

Guilt because even the people he calls friends weren’t exempt from it. Dream, Blue… and now, unknowingly, you. He knows that disappearing in the middle of the night probably hurt you. Listening to you talk with your coworker after he almost put your livelihood in jeopardy made him realize that he was taking advantage of you, even if being shut down irritated him.
 
You gave him a roof over his head and fed him. Kept him company and provided distractions from the pickle he put himself in. Hell, you had even kept him stocked on art supplies so he didn’t get too bored. He hasn’t done jack shit for you in return, and the stars know he couldn’t work. He didn't even bother to clean for you or anything.
 
Damn… Is he selfish?
 
…
 
Nah. 
 
No, he can't help his circumstances. There wasn’t much he

could

do even if he wanted to. But as soon as he gets broomie back into shape, he’ll repay you. Somehow. He swears on his non-existent soul.
 
The sound of tires on the road forced Ink out of his thoughts. The headlights are bright even from far away, and Ink ducks into a nearby grungy ally to stay out of sight. Yeesh, and he thought the garbage at the bar smelt bad. Something wet starts to bleed into the baggy fabric of his sweatpants where the ends drag on the ground. He does

not

want to know what it is. The car passes, splashing water up onto the sidewalk where he had just been standing as the tires tear through the puddles lining the edges of the street. 
 
Ink takes a moment to admire the graffiti staining the bricks of the alley before he ducks back out and continues down the sidewalk.
 
-
 
Twenty bucks.
 
That’s all the guy had to offer. Twenty dollars and a quarter that was tucked in the folds of cash. It would be enough for a bus ticket, but not all the way to Ebott where he needs to be, judging by the pricing on the schedule plastered on the side of the bus station. The glass covering the bulletin is dirty and cracked in a few places, and Ink follows the lines with his eyes as he tries to think about his next move.
 
His best option now is to try and snatch some more money from some unsuspecting human. That, however, is much easier said than done. The little bit he did manage to grab was an easy fluke. But traveling into a new city and leaving himself with nothing would be stupid. At least he knows this town moderately well.
 
Weariness has crept into his bones, a feeling Ink isn’t quite used to. He’s tired. His paint has started to get low, even with his rationing. But the rationing is what’s exhausting him. Without enough paint in his system, his body isn't at one hundred percent. That on top of the fact that he's been going all night, and his body is starting to feel sluggish and uncoordinated. He needs to rest. But where would be safe?
 
Hm… How far is that park? While Ink doesn’t necessarily recognize his surroundings, he does recall that it was located somewhere in the center of town. Coincidentally, where the bus stop is. So, it should be nearby. With that goal in mind, Ink makes a pit stop at the bathrooms to double check his disguise is still intact.
 
The door creaks as the skeleton shoulders his way through, and his hands fly up to cover his nose hole as the stench inside assaults his senses. Stars above, it smells like something died in here. The room is small and has maybe three stalls, one of them having a door that's barely hanging on. Paper towels are spilling over the sides of the overfilled garbage can. Ink can barely even see his reflection through the grimy mirror. Overhead, the lights buzz. A sound that once again sobers up the soulless artist to his situation he’s found himself in.
 
He tugs at the mask over his mouth and nose. He’s still hidden, which serves as somewhat of a little relief. But seeing himself like this; in a filthy bathroom wearing someone else's clothes, not even able to see his own face… He doesn’t recognize himself anymore.
 
…
 
He needs to get the hell out of this smelly bathroom, and he wastes no more time in doing so, his shoes scuffing loudly over the dirty floor.
 
The park is only a mere three blocks away. It’s peaceful at this time of night. Deathly silent, with only the ambience from chirping crickets and frogs to keep Ink company. Deep into the park he walks, determined to find a nice and secluded place to rest. After some aimless wandering, he finds it. Up in the branches of one of the willow trees by the pond, out of the way of where most of the foot traffic happens.
 
He almost falls three times while trying to climb it.
 
It’s unusual for him. His body is usually so nimble and quick, but after going so long without the proper nutrients his body needs, he’s grown… weak. By the time he reaches a thick and solid branch that’s sturdy enough to hold him overnight, his chest is heaving and his bones ache from exertion. 
 
Some of the flowing leaves tickle his face as he pulls down the mask. The air is cool, but pleasant. If he does fall, he’ll land moderately safely in the water of the lake below. Carefully, he crosses one leg over the other and slouches into the most comfortable position he can manage while leaning against the trunk of the old tree he’s made his temporary home in.
 
As his sockets start to droop, he can’t help but think that the worst part about all of this is that for the first time in a while… he’s all alone.
 
All he can do now is hold onto the hope that he can get home.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Geese.
 
Of all the things to ruin what he has going on, why did it have to be geese? How embarrassing is that? The same geese who attacked him the first time he came here, no less. He recognized them by the evil glint in their beady little eyes, only this time you aren’t here to protect him.
 
Now, as he stands surrounded by agitated water fowl, he wonders how the hell his life came to this.
 
He’s been stuck camping out in this park for about two days, the large willow by the lake the closest thing he can call home for the moment. It’s been difficult remaining out of sight, especially during the day. Even more difficult was staying fed and keeping his paints rationed. He’s getting dangerously low on those, and if he doesn’t get a refill soon…
 
That became his motivation. His weary bones are sluggish and have started to ache. He had thought that maybe if he could find

some

way of getting a refill that it would fix the problem and give him a clearer head. The best time to do that? During the day, when he’s most at risk.
 
It was with careful movements that the skeleton slunk down the tree. What he failed to think of was watching his step, leading to his current predicament. All he did was step into the grass, those little assholes have the entire lake! How was he supposed to know that Geese were so territorial???
 
He stares helplessly at the one tugging at his sleeve, its grip stronger than its little body would have you believe. Those blunt little teeth - because of course they have teeth - are tearing the fabric. Even worse? People are watching. And laughing. Yeah, it must be hilarious watching a guy being surrounded and harassed by a horde of geese. Hiding he may be, but help would be appreciated.
 
It’s very clear that help isn’t coming, though. It's up to Ink to get himself out of this situation.
 
He tries to pull away.
 
The goose pulls back much harder.
 
So much so that Ink is pulled off of his feet, landing on the hard concrete sidewalk with a shout, flat on his back and at the birds mercy. He scrambles to get back up and is successful at getting to his knees. However, in the process, the back of his hoodie is snagged by another angry goose. His body lurches backwards and his sunglasses go flying off. He curses and is forced to use a hand to cover his eyes. Curse his smallness. 
 
Despite being one armed and blinded, the monster fights back, all the while trying not to actually hurt the animals. He wriggles and jerks around, his cheeks flushing a rainbow hue at the snickers and laughter of the crowd. In a particularly rough attempt to get the stupid bird to release him, he falls back over and gets his hood snagged off of his skull by one of the geese.
 
The gasp from the crowd makes him freeze in horror.
 
Shit. Shit, shit,

shit

. He still has his face mask, but that doesn't do very much when his skull is exposed. His hands lower slowly, and his eye lights shrink at the looks he’s getting.
 
The crowd is dead silent for a while, before chaos erupts and people start shouting and running. There are phones out and pointed at him, and it won't be long before he's plastered all over the internet.
 
All he can do? Run. He scrambles to his feet, using his hands to push and bat at the geese holding him hostage. He hadn’t wanted to hurt them, but what else is he supposed to do? One still has its beak clamped on his sleeve and he has to yank his arm away, the force causing the fabric to tear with a loud rip and leaving the large white bird with a trophy.
 
No one tries to stop him as he shoves through the crowd. They part for him like the red sea, too scared to get close or touch him.
 
His feet hit the pavement so hard his bones rattle. This isn't good. This isn't good at all. Not once in his life has Ink ever felt such panic before. It's suffocating. He can't breathe. His vision is blurry and the world is spinning around him as he makes a break for the main gate out of the park.
 
He almost loses his footing as he bursts out into the sidewalk, leaves crunching beneath his shoes as he skids to the side and nearly out into the street in his hasty turn. He’s barely able to catch himself and the rough concrete of the sidewalk leaves scratches on the tips of his phalanges. Frantic fingers tug the hood back over his head and hold it there. Maybe he can at least hide while he attempts to escape.
 
He doesn’t know where he’s going, just that it needs to be somewhere else. Choosing the park as a base was such a bad idea. But when does Ink ever really

think

? Out of nowhere, the screeching of tires echoes through his skull and a cherry red car suddenly skids to a stop a few feet ahead of him. It looks vaguely familiar, but the panic makes it impossible for him to pinpoint where he’s seen it before. 
 
He tries to stop himself so he can turn around, but he’s too slow. One of the back doors is thrown open and two arms reach out and grab him before he can do anything to stop it. A pathetic scream is wrenched from his throat as he's pulled into the backseat, the door slamming shut behind him.
 
–
 
It’s only been two days since Ink disappeared, but it feels like it’s been longer. Up until he (literally) fell into your life, you didn’t think you were all that lonely. But now that he’s gone, you’ve been left with a sizable hole in your life. As much of a pain in the ass as he was, you got used to him. He kept you company, and he kept you on your toes in a way you didn't know you needed. The little skeleton added variety to a life you hadn’t realized was so monotone.
 
Ink would be lounging on the couch when you got home from work. More often than not your coffee table would be littered with papers full of sketches he’d made while waiting on your return. One side of your desk is empty. You had cleared it off when he decided it made a good spot to sit while you worked on your assignments.
 
The other side of your bed is cold. Half a year ago you wouldn’t have even imagined sharing your bed, but despite Ink’s hyperactive yappy mouth, he was a quiet sleeper and kept his hands to himself when he wasn't hogging all of the blankets.
 
That stupid skeleton was the closest thing you had to a friend since Kate in a long, long time. And now he’s gone.
 
You woke up with your eyes sore from crying the night before. It’s been nerve wracking trying to figure out why he decided to leave so out of the blue. What you may have done to upset him to that extent. Carefully, you rub the ache and crust from your eyes as you slide your legs over the side of the bed. When your hands fall to your lap, you blink a few times to let your eyes adjust.
 
In the corner by your desk is a small pile of Ink’s sketchbooks. You feel bad leaving them on the floor, but you weren’t sure what else to do with them. Shoving them in the closet felt mean. You hadn’t bothered to look through them yet. You already miss him and didn't want to make it worse.
 
A quick glance at your phone tells you that there are still a few hours before Kate is supposed to be here to pick you up for another day of searching. You have timeto look. It may do you some good to give the pages a skim, give yourself some kind of closure. Hell, maybe even a reason for his disappearance.
 
You walk over with unhurried steps and pick up the one on top. It’s a cheaper one you’d bought at the closest grocery store. The cover is plastic and the pages inside are thin. You’re careful not to accidentally tear any as you open the cover.
 
Each page is almost completely filled in either by absentminded doodles or full page pieces. There's sketches of areas around your home, some drawings of characters he'd seen on TV, and a few portraits of other… well, you assume other monsters.
 
Some bipedal goats, fish ladies, and even other skeletons. Just how vast is his species? It's difficult to wrap your head around, and you find that you're curious to learn more despite yourself. If you ever get the chance to, that is. Most of the sketchbooks are filled with more of the same, until you reach maybe the fifth one in the pile, where you stumbled across a portrait of… yourself.
 
You're sitting by your window sill with your head tilted inwards towards the glass, your eyes watching the water droplets cascading down the window. It's shaded very well. Ink seems to have spent a lot of time on this, and the thought sends warmth flooding into your cheeks. When did he do this?
 
There's a lot of erase marks and smudges, like he kept making mistakes. The shapes are full and well defined… and yet it seems unfinished despite this. You close the book with a snap. There's a heavy feeling in your gut as you put it back.
 
You should probably get ready.
 
By the time Kate arrives you're feeling extra sentimental. The revelation that he'd been drawing you at one point makes you wonder if he cared more than he had let on. More than likely he was just bored. You don't even remember when he got the chance to do that. You never even noticed.
 
You force yourself to focus and keep your eyes peeled for any sign of your lost monster. You don't have very long to look today since Kate has an evening shift today. Hope isn’t something you have a lot of right now.
 
Fifteen minutes in and she stops at a red light, so you let your eyes scour the surroundings absentmindedly. Huh. A lot of people sure are active today, with countless of them jogging down the sidewalk up ahead of you. Curious, you let your gaze wander further up. The park isn't far, and you can barely see the gate from where you are, but you do take note that it’s where a lot of these people are coming from.
 
What on earth? Is there an event of some sort going on you weren’t aware of? Not much goes on in this little town… apart from a monster that’s gone missing.
 
Kate seems to have noticed too, and it’s with a sense of dread that you realize she’s come to a similar conclusion. “Shit,” she hisses through her teeth, eyes hard as she stares up ahead. Her grip on the steering wheel is so tight her knuckles are turning white. She glances at you before anxiously darting her eyes back up to the light. Fuck, why won’t it turn green already?
 
“Think that’s your guy?”
 
You swallow thickly and give your seatbelt a nervous tug.
 
“... I really hope not, but probably.”
 
Finally the light changes, and the car zooms forward with a lurch at the pressure your friend is putting on the gas. With the park quickly approaching, you take it upon yourself to search so Kate can focus on the road. A teenager, a parent and their kid, some old couple….
 
Then one particular figure catches your eye. On the smaller side, and wearing a very familiar hoodie. Your hoodie. Your hand shoots out towards the figure bolting down the sidewalk like a madman and you call out in a frantic voice. Luck is on your side it seems, because he's running right for you. You unbuckle your seatbelt quickly and start scrambling into the backseat, ignoring Kate’s protests about how you’re gonna end up flying through the windshield.
 
There are more important things right now.
 
“There!”
 
Kate gets the message but looks unsure, even as she uses one hand to try and help push you into the back seat.
 
“You’re

positive

? I’d rather not end up kidnapping some random guy-”
 
“

Yes

, I'm sure! He’s wearing my clothes, that’s him!”
 
The car screeches to a halt just as who you’re hoping is your monster friend is a few feet away. You’re still a bit unsteady, but it doesn't stop you from shoving the back door open and reaching out. After grabbing the poor guy by his forearm despite his screeching, you tug him into the backseat and slam the door, nearly falling into the floor with him when Kate steps on the gas again.
 
The little figure in your lap wriggles uncontrollably and for a moment you think you really did capture some poor unsuspecting stranger. But when two wide eye sockets meet your eyes, the lights inside nothing more than two tiny white pinpricks, you breathe a sigh of relief.
 
Upon seeing you, Ink stops fighting and immediately freezes. Slowly, the lights of his eyes expand and then he relaxes so hard his body practically melts.
 
“Oh my god,”
 
His voice is hoarse and he curls himself into you, pressing his skull into your stomach as his legs tuck in towards his chest. You do your best to hold on to him so he doesn't go flying off; laying in the seat of a car isn't very safe, and you’d hate for him to go tumbling into the floor.
 
Ink’s phalanges are shaking as they curl into your shirt. You've never seen him look so small. As he lays there, he slowly seems to come back to himself and calm down. He turns to his side enough to look up at you and tugs his mask off. His teeth part as he opens his mouth to speak, the words stuck in his throat for a moment before he can get them out.
 
“How the

hell

did you find me?”
 
Valid question. One that has you shrugging as you answer it.
 
“Coincidence? We were nearby and saw people running.”
 
“Yeah, and in a town like this, nothing ever happens. You would be the only reason behind such a panic.” Kate chimes in, glancing at the two of you through her rearview mirror. “Now would the two of you sit correctly and put on a seatbelt for star's sake?” 
 
She’s slowed down considerably now that the car is a safe distance from the park. You don't know where she's taking you; you can’t say you recognize this side of town. It looks nice though. Well maintained streets and clean buildings. Neatly trimmed trees and bushes line the sidewalk with even spacing. The only thing mussing up the look are the leaves that litter the pavement here and there as the trees shed for the winter.
 
Stores eventually fade into houses, and nice ones at that. This is the wealthy side of town, so Kate must be taking you all to her house. You’ve never been before, so it’s admittedly a little exciting. You watch as houses pass you by through the window, taking in a side of town you haven’t seen before. Noticing your focus, Ink decides to follow your gaze.
 
It doesn’t really seem all that special to him.
 
The car pulls into a long driveway and into an open garage. Kate puts it into park and unbuckles her seatbelt before turning backwards and holding up a finger, telling you to wait. She steps out and peeks her head out to look at the road. She looks left, then right. With the coast clear, she closes the garage and gives you a nod.
 
You and Ink hop out of the car and follow her inside the house through a side door. The monster of the group lets out a low whistle as you step into a foyer. You can't blame him; it's a stark difference from your little apartment. The smooth hardwood floor beneath your feet is shiny and clear. The foyer itself is bigger than your kitchen, only expanding in size as it leads into a nice looking living room.
 
It's open and large space. A long couch sits in the middle of the room with a big flatscreen mantled to the wall across from it and a big, round, fuzzy rug is strewn across the floor underneath it. The other wall is lined with floor to ceiling windows showing off a pool outside; Kate is quick to draw the curtains.
 
You knew she lived nice, but damn.
 
“Nice place,” you breathe, cautiously taking a seat on the large couch. Oh. That’s nice. Ink follows you silently, plopping down ungracefully next to you and criss-crossing his legs with his hands on his knees. He looks tense.
 
She gives you a soft smile over her shoulder. The exhaustion on her face is palpable. Not that you blame her, it’s been a long… last hour. She still has a shift, too. You feel bad for dragging her into your drama, even if it was unintentional.
 
“Thanks. Um,” Her chocolate brown eyes dance around the room awkwardly for a moment before bouncing back to you. “Make yourselves at home. I won't be back until tonight, so… we’ll have to talk tomorrow. Bedrooms are upstairs, and stairs are down that hallway over there. Help yourselves to the fridge. I don’t have any extra clothes on hand, but the upstairs bathroom has some robes if you guys wanna wash what you have on.”
 
She gives you a pat on the shoulder as she passes the couch, heading back towards the garage with slouching shoulders and a heavy sigh.
 
“... Please don't break anything.”
 
And with those final parting words, you and Ink are left alone.