{sanscest one-shots} requests open!

highschool!errorink- cliché

a/n- same au as the highschool afterdeath, but a few years before. I really wanted to write out how Ink and Error met, so... here ya go

Ink's POV

I sprinted through the halls, sketchbook and various folders, binders, and textbooks clutched tightly in my hands. God, I'm going to be late! I shouldn't have stayed the extra couple minutes to draw in those lines...I glanced at my watch. A minute left. Just a couple more hallways... I felt the ground slip out from under me, and I crashed into a random stranger. He wore a black leather jacket, a red shirt. He wore tight dark wash ripped jeans that ripped at the knees and a little above. Black bones. I couln't really get a good look at him, I didn't see his face. Just his chest and legs. All of the papers slipped out of my hands. He stared down at me as I tried to pick up everything. He was expressionless. Even if he was physically attractive, he was emotionally void. You could probably get hypothermia from how cold he was. I stammered. "S-sorry!" I grabbed my pile of papers and sprinted to my next class, and swung the door open to my math class right as the bell rung.

"Glad you finally showed up, Miss Ink,"  said Ms. Shyren with a quite pretty voice and pleasant tone. I murmured out an apology for being almost late as I walked to my seat. Dumping all of my papers onto the desk, I sorted through my mess. Math folder. Binder for history. Sketchbook for art. A folder with sketches of random monsters I found photogenic. I flipped through the last folder- there should be eleven sketches... ten. I froze. Ten? I flipped through again. Ten. Ten. Ten. Oh god, I lost one. It has my name on it. My signature. Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god. Maybe I left it in second-period art? Dear god, I hope so...

Error's POV

A sketch. Of me. I DON'T KNOW WHO THE PERSON WHO DREW THIS. My eyes scanned over the drawing over again- with a second look without the initial "stalker?!" shock. It was... amazing. Every curve of my face was perfectly drawn, and the shadows flawless. You could even see how bored I was in class, and only my multicolored eyes were colored in. An elaborate signature was in the bottom left corner, with beautiful loops and swirls. Though it was elaborate, I could easily read the signature- Squid. An odd alias for a pretty sketch, I guess. It makes me feel weird to keep this with me- I really want to find the owner. It seems like it would be too beautiful to be kept by a person like me, and it also seems like it was more of a personal thing. You don't just draw these kinds of beautiful drawings of other people that you don't know. It's odd.

I folded it up neatly and shoved it into my pocket. It was far past the late bell for the third period, but I couldn't care less. I was going to skip, anyway. The teachers and hall monitors knew I skipped- but they didn't care at all. They knew that I might go into a rage destruction episode again. It's happened before, and it wasn't pretty. I got a ten-day suspension for breaking a hall monitor's arms. You can't really blame me- he was catcalling this girl. She ended up dating me, and I ended up dumping her. Like everyone else. She didn't understand, anyway. I don't know why, but she didn't really... fit. Like her personality didn't exactly fit mine. She wasn't my type, in easier terms. But I don't think easier terms are sufficient when it comes to describing things like... dating, love. Sadness, depression. Anger. Rage. Words only scratch the surface at emotions.

I made my way to the roof- the place that I stay when I skip. I just kind of sit there, with the wind on my face, it's quite peaceful. I usually just use my phone, but not really going on social media. I can't be bothered for the school drama. Sometimes I make paper cranes, then drop them off the roof so they kind of blow away with the wind. The paper cranes remind me of people- they're materialistic and so fragile. Eventually, they reach the ground and get crushed by something or another. Yet another metaphor for death. It's inevitable, there's really no reason for me to try in life.

I laid down on the concrete, staring at the sky, watching the clouds slowly drift by. I frowned, then closed my eyes. I was tired, anyway.

Ink's POV

Lunch was almost here- meaning I could go to the roof and eat lunch. Alone, as usual. But it's not that depressing- my sketches keep my company. Nothing's boring with food and a little imagination put into an art form. Nobody comes to the roof for lunch but me. It's a nice little safe space for me. Nobody destroys anything I own. My sketches won't be torn to shreds here. No broken pencils, no cracked pens. No destruction, just creation. It's peaceful.

Once I climbed the stairs to the roof, I froze- there was someone there. I didn't recognize him. I knew I had drawn him once, but I lost that sketch, and it's probably in a lunchroom trash can right about now. He was quite attractive, to be honest. He was black-boned and had the most peaceful expression on his face. I barely knew who he was- all I knew about him was that he had a... reputation for being hot-tempered, destroying things, and dumping the various amount of girlfriends he's had. Destruction. No, no, no, no-

I was shaking with anxiety. The air seemed like it was shattering around me like glass, and the air I was breathing seemed like it was made of broken shards. I'm not alone on this rooftop. I don't know what this person is like. He's known for destruction, Ink. He will destroy everything you have and everything you are. You're on a rooftop, Ink. He's much larger than you are. He can destroy you in a heartbeat, to end the beating of your heart. He could just push you off the roof and you would be gone. Dead. It would look like a suicide, I was already known for my frequent panic attacks. But it wouldn't matter. Nobody would mourn my death anyway. Just the thought made tears flow from my eyes, dripping on my paint-spattered hoodie. Despite my intense shaking, I couldn't move. I was frozen. As if I was trapped in a skeleton's special blue attack. I couldn't breathe, and I was struggling to do the simple, supposedly automatic task of getting air in and out of my lungs. I know I'm overreacting, but my body wouldn't stop. My soul was beating out of my chest, and I was starting to see black spots from the lack of oxygen getting in and out of my body. I was feeling lightheaded and about to pass out.

And then he woke up. A groan, presumably from sleeping on concrete. Pushing himself up. And then he looked at me. Eye contact. A look of panic.

That was all I saw until it all just faded to black.

a/n- I have no idea if I described Ink's panic attack correctly- I'm basing it off of my experience with my anxiety attacks. I've never fainted or passed out, but it sure as hell felt like I was going to.

-I don't plan to make any more parts of this, so if someone wants it, please comment/request it-