My Friend Over the Phone

Chapter 18

Things were beginning to get out of hand. Blue had moved away, and Dream had gotten someone who cares about him more than anything else in this world that they live in. Ink already couldn't stand the lack of attention his friends gave him. He was now, once again, disassociated from everything and everyone he used to know. He didn't have things that bothered him, but the worry of being all alone always seemed to be picking away at him. No matter how many vials he took, as long as his friends, or anyone for that matter weren't with him, he couldn't feel anything. But why? Why was he abandoned? Why couldn't he have a soul and feel the way everyone else does? He wished he could understand they way they felt. Even though Fresh and Killer were like him, they seemed to know true emotions as much as everyone else. What's going to come next was inevitable, and Ink knew it. They were going to get bored of him. Being with him and entertaining him will become but a tiresome chore. They'll outgrow him completely, and he'll be a blank-slated nobody with no real purpose once again. He just wanted someone who'll stay by his side until the end of the Multiverse. Doesn't he deserve it since he's done nothing but devote his miserable, endless existence to protecting their Multiverse? He used to hope that Cross could be that person, but he hates him now. Nothing Ink could say or do will change that.

    Deep down, for whatever reason, he misses Cross. He was a fun and excitable creation. But how do you even begin fixing a relationship you yourself broke beyond repair? Cross has a good life now. He won't be missing him back anytime soon.

But what could he possibly do about it..?

    Ink pondered for a moment. He felt as if he was forgetting something. Well duh, he was basically always forgetting something. He checked the calendar on his phone. Was he doing anything today? ...No, apparently not. Then what was he thinking about???

Oh yeah! That guy he called! He was weird. He had nothing else to do, and he was so bored. Okay, he thought. Random person it is! He scrolled through his previous calls, and easily found the number, as it was the only one in the never ending lost of contacts not labeled as someone's name. He should probably ask who he even is. He pressed 'call again' and waited. *Ring...ring...ring... Static. "Hello?" He smiled. That didn't take long at all! "Hi!" "Uh, who is this?" Ink's smile left his face as quickly as it came. He was easily forgettable, wasn't he? He thought he was finally rememberable, with being 'annoyingly fun', as people called it, and all. He thought he was finally interesting enough to make an impression! Calm down, he reassured himself. You called him once, on the phone. It was a misdial anyway. It's not you. "The person who accidentally called you instead of Blue about three weeks ago!" "Oh, it's you! Um, how are you?" He slumped. "Bored. I have no one else to talk to and nothing else to do, so I'm here! Talking to you! You have time, right?" Ink was too oblivious to hear the other shudder, as if he was remembering something unpleasant. "Uh, sure. What's your name?" Ink paused. Should it really matter? People in the past had tried to take advantage of him because he's the protector of Universes. "Why do you wanna know?" "It's normal for people to know each other's names if we're gonna talk." "Well then, what's your name?" He was met with silence. "You know what? Staying anonymous is good, too." What a funny-sounding anomaly. Wait, hasn't he thought something like that before? ...

    Whatever, not that it matters anyway.

    After Nightmare and Cross' conversation about their current relationship, they felt a lot more open with each other. They didn't really feel awkward anymore, and they were both certainly happy for that.

    The God of Negativity was sitting at the giant desk in his room, folding a piece of loose leaf. He stared at the abomination he had made in his hands. This whole 'anonymous phone call' ordeal was really getting to him. He hadn't really told anyone about EL yet, though he had a sneaking suspicion that they all knew, despite Killer and Dust being the only ones he caught at the door. They were the gossipers of the group after all, especially Killer. Although Cross was definitely a distraction to his anxiety about who exactly he is, he couldn't help but keep thinking he was talking to Ink. His suspicions only seemed to grow since he first had that thought. He thought about just straight up asking him, but he remembered his deal with him. If he told him who he was, he'd have to tell himself off too. He could've done it anyway and denied that he didn't care about losing an unhealthy, mere delusion of a best friend, but this skeleton has all of his deepest secrets he's never shared with anyone. He continued eyeing the tiny origami doll that was meant to serve as yet another distraction to his horrifying thoughts of EL being Ink. He made it as his own design, hoping that if he puts a proper appearance that looked nothing like Ink to the voice he knew and was frankly always a relief to hear at the end of the more stressful and horrid days, he could convince himself that this was just some random Sans.

    His phalanges twitched, wanting to crumble up the small figure, but the struggle was to no avail. He reluctantly placed the tiny, stupid, childish things the desk as he rested his skull on his crossed arms. He felt very tired, but refused to go to sleep as an attempt to prevent the lowering of his shield of thoughts and letting all of the haunting thoughts of Ink shamelessly and smugly revealing every embarrassing little thing about him to the entire Multiverse, losing all of the respect he had finally earned and becoming a social recluse once again. The people who he could consider family under all of that tough, salty exterior would leave him behind, including his one and only love. Dream would go back to hating him again, and this time, he had nothing to gain him power again. Not like he'd like to ever do such a thing again. Just thinking about it made him sick.

    He got up and left, shutting the door of his room behind him. The tiny paper doll remained on the table, staring blankly into nothingness.

    He walked up to Cross' room, only to pause when he heard him talking to someone. It seemed pretty one-sided. He was on the phone with someone? But who? Everyone he talked to was sleeping!

"Okay, bye." He heard on the other side of the door before he seemingly hung up. He waited a moment before he saw the light peeking through the cracks in the door go out. He considered knocking, then decided against it. He trudged back to his room, and sat down at his desk again. It was as if he never got up or even had the thought to sleep next to Cross tonight in the first place.

He pulled open the drawer and took out a black journal, and began to write with one of his fountain pens as the clock on the wall beside him clicked to midnight.

It is calm tonight, isn't it?..