Random Darkiplier Shipping (ON HIATUS)

Dark x Host - Again. (Recommendation)

Recommender: @KureikoJashinowa.

Ship: Dark/Host, Romantic
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Dark sighed, cracking his neck, causing his entire shell to crack. Again. Which, of course, made his aura lash out, drain the entire room of color for a few seconds, and send wave after wave of pain coursing through his broken body.

As soon as he managed to finally sit up straight again, he immediately went back to his endless loop of typing.

It seemed he could never escape; he was either dealing with Wilford, which is it's own separate category, or he was typing document. After document. After document.

He was often the only one able to pick up the other ego's severe amounts of slack, it seemed. They were too busy having fun with their temporary little lives for their work; so busy that they let the immortal demon take care of it without blinking an eye.

But Dark didn't say anything. He figured that it was better this way; they could live their lives to the fullest, and he could keep his mind off... certain other things.

Not that Mark deserved Dark's stalling, of course, but that wasn't the most important thing on his mind.

So Dark continued typing, waiting for one of the other egos to come in and drop another paper of instructions on his desk. On the pile. With the current other seventeen.

And Dark wouldn't stop them. Again. And he'd work himself all day and night. Again.
Never going home. Again.

But that wasn't important. Because Dark wouldn't stop them. Again. Because things were better this way.
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"The Host paced back and forth as the clock hit two-forty a.m., biting his lip nervously. The Host wonders to himself why his fiancée wouldn't be home yet, what with the hour." The Host mumbled, putting his bandages over his eyes in the master bathroom.

By now, the Host had come up with a plan. He had gone around the whole house, narrating, hoping to find any trace of Dark. That was about fifty minutes ago. When he found nothing, that was when the panic hit.

But now? Now, not only was the Host nervous and confused, but he was also mad. Because the Host knew exactly what happened to be able to keep Dark away from home.

Throwing on his casual black jeans and turtleneck, he threw his trenchcoat over his shoulder and went outside.
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After driving for a while, he pulled up to an office building, and found just what he expected.

While the building was four stories tall, it looked nearly empty; almost abandoned. Of course, if you simply looked up at a window on the fourth floor on any weeknight, you'd see the faint yellow light coming from inside of a room behind a boarded up window.
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A mumbled rant coming up the staircase, slowly approaching Dark's office, did not bother him.

Not that he could hear it. If he could hear anything at all, it would most likely be the screams and cries of his own body telling him to go to bed or move or do SOMETHING. But he'd learned that it was quite easy to block out those voices a long time ago. After all, nothing caffeine can't fix.

So, as his sanity (or whatever remained in it's place) dwindled away, he never once stopped typing. He had fifteen more. Then he could rest. Only fifteen. Only...Fourteen.

Dark sighed, marking another one off his list, tossing the paper of instructions into the wastebasket he learned to keep by his desk. Only the paper didn't land in the wastebasket. It landed on the ground next to the wastebasket along with the others; because there was no room left in the wastebasket. It was too full of coffee cups and disappointment.

"....The Host furiously slams the door open, and the Host would be staring Dark down, if the Host still had eyes!" Host seethed, bearing his teeth in a frown.

...He expected a reaction. But there was no reaction. There was nothing. All the Host found was a tired, broken corpse, too buried alive in other people's work to even have time to himself. Or a sense of time at all. But what he didn't find was his fiancée.

"Just... Leave it on the table..." Came the echoed mumble from the small demon behind the desk. He didn't stop typing. He didn't even look up.

The Host, for once, was left speechless.
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He stood there for a minute, and felt...A lot of different things.

He was mad, shocked, sad, and confused...and worried. Very worried.

Without a word, he set his trenchcoat down across one of the chairs in Dark's office, and cleared his throat.

No response.

"The Host would prefer Dark to look at him; but will not force him to. The Host made a promise, after all..."

Dark did not look up.

So, the Host tried one last thing. He wasn't sure if he even had the strength to do it. But...he had to try. And the world around him went black as he did so.

"Dark, please...look at me."

It sounded so strange, hearing his own voice, speaking for himself, to actually talk. Not just to understand the actions of others.

And though he couldn't see it...Dark stopped typing.

But he could hear it.
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"I don't understand, Dark. I know you probably aren't listening to me, but I want to know. I truly want to hear it come from you; without forcing it out of you. Why do you do this?" The Host asked sadly, his head falling.

He knew Dark wouldn't respond. This always happened. Host would try and get Dark to listen but...it never worked. The Host hadn't tried actually talking instead of narration before, still, but why would that change anything?

The Host sighed, defeated, and grabbed his trenchcoat. He muttered to himself under his breath, just to know where he was going, and went and kissed Dark's forehead.

He went to leave, but something interesting happened.

"Because others don't have second chances."

A whisper. Soft, but there. Tears hitting a keyboard and desk. Soft, but there.

A crying, hurt, and tired man. Dead, but very much there.
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Dark had his head turned to the TV, eyeliner streams and stains still going down his face. He hadn't spoken again since he left that building, no matter how much Host tried to coax.

But...he was grateful. Curled up in his fiancée's lap, wrapped in a blanket, being talked to like he was a person. Other than a servant for things to be pawned off to.

He had put up a fight at first, more with himself, and those voices, but it didn't matter anymore.

He was with the Host now. And he was okay. Because maybe, just maybe, everyone could take care of themselves for a while.

After all, everyone needs some changes in their life now and again.