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Language:
English
Series:
Part 1 of Claire de Lune , Part 12 of I'VE BEEN TRYING NOT TO CRY IN THE GROCERY STORE
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Published:
2022-02-04
Words:
549
Chapters:
1/1
Comments:
62
Kudos:
26
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482

Prelude

Summary:

The Soul is a fickle thing.

Notes:

i need more Pap/Reader angst in my life so have this hehehe

and i!

actually have more planned with this specific scenario, so, therefore i made it a whole series if you're interested >:>>

Work Text:

The ballroom stands tall, dark. The walls look like The Void from a distance, blanketed in darkness. There’s the soft, barely audible chatter of everyone in the background, friends and family, but right now…

 

The only light is on you.

 

A spotlight, almost. It’s dim, yet just bright enough.

 

The music starts to smother the voices and builds, as he pulls you further into the dance, waltzing you around him. Your gentle laughter is a song itself, ringing quietly through the room and bouncing off the non-walls.

 

You look happy. Judging by the bright smile, shining elatedly on your face from ear to ear, it’s a lasting happiness that won’t fade for some time.

 

And, he can tell he feels the same.

 

He knows, somehow, that this is it.

 

As the music reaches its climax, he spins you around, into a final bow, and the crowd claps for the both of you.

 

It has ended.

 

You and him move to sit at the banquet table once more, chatting amongst yourselves, exchanging meaningful glances and sentiments only such a content couple can share.

 

The moment is perfect.

 

The following moments, from one to another, are all-around perfect.

 

And yet…

 

. . .

 

Papyrus pays no mind to it.

 

He pays no mind to anything else, when he stands, from sitting on your other side. Before you can blink he takes hold of your hand, kneeling in front of you, eyes shifting from you to your newly-appointed husband, jaw working at absolutely nothing for a time.

 

This is all wrong.

 

He feels tears gather at his sockets.

 

I’m very happy for you.

 

He says it with nothing short of a sob, and you just smile back, seemingly unaware.

 

But, then,

 

But I’m sorry. I love you, I’m sorry.

 

Your husband says nothing, looking at Papyrus with a sort of solemnity from the darkness, as though in understanding. However, in the next instant it’s replaced with scorn—offense, anger, as though it finally dawned on him what it meant.

 

Your own expression doesn’t shift. It doesn’t have to.

 

Because that’s when things start to crumble.

 

The Void closes in, making the spotlight wash itself out even more. Slowly the dark suffocates and closes around you, and Papyrus tries to hold on tighter to you but he can’t.

 

All while you smile.

 

You smile, as though none of it matters.

 

You smile as though he hasn’t just shattered everything.

 

That’s the last thing he sees, is your smile, when it all fades. When your light is no more, when you are no more.

 

And he’s left there, still kneeling. Feeling the last of your warmth vanish from his hand, slipping right through his phalanges like the most saddening sand.

 

He kneels there a while. Unable to do much else, head lolling downwards, almost wanting to loll from his very shoulders rather than stare at the darkness before him.

 

Then, it comes for him too.

 

The Void that he had brought on him, and everyone, and you—by letting you see through, by saying what his Soul desired, and for his mistake it comes to claim him into its embrace, finally…

 

. . .

 

Finally.

 

His Soul, in the end, welcomes it like the shore welcomes the midnight sea;

 

for it was a fickle thing, to have dreamed so foolishly.