Archive of Our Own ^beta

...

Pickle groaned, struggling as he got up from his bed, rubbing his exhausted eyes as he sat down at the edge of it. The room was completely dark and empty, the only source of light coming from the window of his room. He had moved a few months ago to make sure he was nowhere near his so called "friends", opting for one of the rooms that had been unused for a while. Back then, he opted for one of the rooms that didn't have windows due to his fear of a certain someone harassing him, but now? She was living there with him once more, they shared the same house, the same space, he had to see her out there in the open day and night, and he always had to rush himself to not be seen by her.

Because he knew that Taco would try to get him back, over and over again. And quite frankly, he simply just didn't trust himself anymore. Pickle was aware about how much he resented Taco, yes, but there's only so much one can endure until they end up returning to the ones that hurted them.

Especially if they have no one around anymore. No friends, not anyone who could defend him. Nothing. He was completely by himself. Everyone else just accepted the person that hurted him the most back on their lifes. Without even caring about how he would feel about this. Just because she "apologized". Not even to him.

Fine. Whatever. Okay. That's fine. That's perfectly understandable.

It's not like she ruined his life. It's not like she's the reason he wasn't able to connect with anyone for years, it's not like she didn't make him feel scared of going outside, of being seen. It's not like she didn't constantly send him letters after what happened, it's not like she used his once best friend for her own gain. It's not like she took away Microphone from him.

It's not like Taco ruined his life and got away with it.

So really, as much as it was unfair, it didn't matter anymore. There wasn't much he could do on his own.

Knowing that she had been inside his old room made him feel sick at the idea of just staying there, the fact that Taco intruded his safe place like it didn't matter, made his stomach revolve with fear.

So at the end, for the sake of what remained of his mental health, Pickle opted for moving places, this being his new... not-really safe space for now. He wishes he could go away, yet he knew he was far too pathetic to try anything.

... He hasn't left his room in days, now that he thought about it.

No one even bothered to check on him, either. Well, OJ tried. Keyword, tried. The moment Pickle felt confident enough to ask him for help, or to just ask him to get him some food, anything, the manager immediately had to leave due to another important reunion with the other two winners. Pickle didn't care enough to remember what their group was called.

All of this was. Upsetting. So, so profoundly upsetting for him.

His room was in a really rough state. he didn't care enough to fix it nowdays, he could barely push himself to go to the bathroom either way. His clothes were dirty, he has been wearing the same shirt with baggy pants for the past two weeks. He grimaced at that fact.

God. He was disgusting.

He checked the hour on the clock next to his bed. 2:00 am. It was completely silent, everyone seemed to have drifted away in their sleep. Not a single step could be heard on the corridor. Maybe this was his chance to get out for a bit. His stomach growled in a painful manner, and he really wasn't able to ignore it anymore. And quite frankly, he did have an appetite at the moment. As much as he wanted to just simply starve away and not do anything else, deep down, he knew that he could never truly push himself to die.

Maybe it was because it hurted, and because he loathed the pain he made himself go through, yet he was too exhausted to try to stop it permanente, only looking for temporary solutions. Or maybe it was because he hoped that someone would notice eventually.

The thought of trying again terrified him. And really, can you blame him?

He chose to open his heart to people again. And now, he's but a husk of his golden days. Pickle really didn't feel like a person anymore. A person would be met with compassion if they had gone through what he did.

Mockery ended up being the only thing that embraced him in earnest.

He stood up, legs wobbling slightly at the sudden movement, body now unused to any sort of activity nowdays. He has lost a lot of weight these past months, and he was a lot paler. Salt and Pepper tried to help him whenever he was in too much of a rough state, yet he always left before they managed to help him fully recover.

They didn't need to see him in such a pitiful state, he can deal with himself alone.

His figure resembled the one of a ghost.

It scared him.

Pickle grabbed his stomach tightly, murmuring curses under his breath. He needed to eat something. And despite his obvious necessity, the thought of fixing his room before doing anything else lingered on the back of his mind, being well-aware that cleaning would help him feel a bit better.

Pickle felt like he was going to pass out if he didn't get food now.

It's just going to be a fast trip to the kitchen, nothing more.

He walked towards his closet, and rummaged through the clean clothes he still had, which weren't many in all fairness, it was too risky to go and wash them. His eyes landed on what appeared to be an old green hoodie, the one he wore when the tragedy had ocurred. The cucumber's eyes fixated on it with an emotion that was... difficult to explain.

There were patches of violet on the piece of clothing, carefully added, perfectly glued to it. A reminder of someone he held once close to his heart, someone who adored him deeply and understood his pain. Someone who had approached him with tenderness before all of this had ocurred. His thumb traced the stitched accesories with longing, remaining lost at the thought of someone he had loved, but never known.

She's gone now. This is all he had left of her. He completely forgot about it.

Eventually, the vegetable let out a heavy sigh, gently folding the hoodie and placing it away. He can't wear it anymore. It should never get stained by him. He ended up going with another simple hoodie he had laying around, one that was black and has accents of green.

Pickle remembered that this one was a gift from Bomb, for his birthday. Now he doesn't really even have one of those anymore. Not after knowing the truth.

... But quite frankly, Pickle never cared about that. It affected everyone else, sure, but Pickle didn't really care. It felt stupid to him. Why should it matter anyway?

Honestly. It felt like everyone just got worse.

He pursed his lips, frowning slightly. Right. He should hurry. The pain of an empty stomach was far more urgent than any thought he could have on his mind now.

Pickle made sure that his shirt wasn't visible (to the best of the ability of someone who's half blind and completely in the dark with a very unfortunate light source), really hoping that if someone were to see him, they didn't get to notice the stains on it.

After not leaving his room for weeks, this is going to be the first time he actually gets to breath some fresh air.

Well.

No going back now.

...

Pickle's steps were quick as he approached the restaurant with urgency, feeling how his ribs were stabbing his insides with despair, aching for the momentary nourishment that would keep him alive for a while. Chanting to himself that they'll get there eventually, that he's also hungry too, and that it'll be okay.

He really should stop talking to himself. It made him look like a weirdo. How pitiful of him.

Doesn't matter. He really can't bring himself to care when his insides feel like they're going to start eating themselves, his head was spinning, and his mouth was quite dry. Turns out that being outside after ages of lacking any physical activity or nutrition was taking more of a tool on him than what he had first expected. The lights of the restaurant were on at all times, as everyone was allowed to arrive and take anything they wanted, the shimmer device providing what they needed.

Pickle often wondered how actual food tasted— like, real, actual food that wasn't generated. Would it be the very same, or would it be completely different? Would the textures change? Would it be more worth it? It was a bit funny, actually, how they insisted to distance themselves from everything that the android phone once had represented, yet still indulged on a machine that served the same purpose Mephone4 once had.

This didn't feel like a real society in any sort of way. It felt very much like everyone was pretending to know what they were doing all the time, yet they never tried to go outside that bubble.

The cucumber never thought about it too much, his life being miserable enough as it is.

Pickle entered the restaurant, relieved by the fact that the liar was no where to be seen. Not ever since the game-show was back. It was a bit more comfortable, honestly. Paper used to bring him food whenever he could, as he was also uncomfortable with the presence of the traitor and felt for the situation of his friend, but he wasn't able to look after Pickle anymore once he became a contestant.

Which. That's fine. Pickle gets it. Priorities and all.

... he missed him quite a bit. The vegetable hopes that the show is treating him well. Even if... he doesn't really get why he joined, given the memories he has from those times.

The coast was clear. Nobody that worked at the restaurant was around, which made Pickle feel much more relaxed. He doesn't even know what he's going to eat. But he has a craving for something salty, he's sure of it. He used to love sweets, but it would be far too overwhelming to deal with. Maybe if he starts eating normally again. Maybe then he'll consider it.

The cucumber grabbed the handle of the main door to the kitchen, expecting to find it completely empty. His eyes wandered around briefly, a sigh of relief escaping from his lips as he placed his hand over his chest, huffing and puffing as he recovered from walking for what felt like forever. This was a really unpractical location for the kitchen, actually. Who thought this was a good idea to begin with?

... He knows who did.

They were not very smart.

Once he had recovered, he lifted up his head to focus on the kitchen, and realized that he wasn't alone, which wasn't ideal for him. However, the person that stayed in the room wasn't Tea Kettle or Candle, it was... Nickel?

Nickel had a lighter with a cigarette on his hands, he was looking forward to have a little time for himself, Pickle assumed. His eyebags- or were they make-up? Pickle couldn't really tell, the coin changed a lot in these past few months, both physically and emotionally. The gaze of the currency focused on the vegetable now, putting both items aside as he leaned his back on the kitchen countertop. Despite his face expressing no emotion, he wasn't bothered by the presence of the miserable one.

They stared at eachother for a while in silence, Pickle debating mentally whether to just take his leave, apologize for interrupting him, or to just stay and take what he needed. Meanwhile Nickel really didn't care. He supposed the other one was hungry, judging by the tired eyes and pursed lips that rested on Pickle's face, as well as how he grabbed his stomach with shame.

They never really. Spoke before, at least on their own, mostly thanks to Balloon and Knife. The two of them were gone now, however, so they really had no reasons to... talk. Usually, Nickel would just leave whoever entered the kitchen do what they needed on their own at these hours, especially as he's not on his shift anymore, but ever since he became the only active worker here, he kind of... has full turns everyday?

It was getting to him a tiny bit, if he were to be frank with you, which is a luxury not many can afford nowdays.

... He couldn't help but feel worried about the state of his acquiantance. Nickel supposes that he needs something to eat. So, he simply rolled up the sleeves of his jacket, preparing himself to cook once again. A nice meal lifted up people's spirits, after all.

"Hey." Nickel ended up speaking for the two of them, getting Pickle's attention. "What do you want?" That- sounded way harsher than what he had intended, and the coin felt how he cringed at his own attitude, quickly correcting his own words.

"W- What do you want to eat, I mean. You look like you're going to pass out at any second, we have to get something in your body." His voice was dry, words lacking any emotional weight they would've once had ages ago. He used to be so expressive back then. Pickle couldn't help but feel upset at it.

Such an injustice.

"... Huh? O- oh, I, uh..." Pickle snapped out of his trance shortly after the currency's words finally had made proper sense to him. The green-haired man blinked as he scratched the back of his neck, awkwardly. In all honesty, he has forgotten how to talk to people, and he didn't want to bother Nickel- wait... Why wasn't he asleep? Pickle's eyebrows frowned with concern. "Nickel, why are you still awake? You aren't supposed to work at night..." Pickle questionated, tilting his head as he got closer to the shorter one.

Nickel chuckled briefly, amused by Pickle's comment, to then shrug without much care.

"You're not wrong on that, actually." He humored hollowly, walking towards the fridge in order to open it. "However, I'm the only one in charge of the kitchen right now. Everyone else has left for... you already know." The coin gestured vaguely, his eyebrows slightly furrowed. He grabbed some bacon and eggs, as well as some leftover waffle mix.

Pickle felt his face burn slightly once he figured out what Nickel was trying to do. He shook his hands nervously, ashamed at the idea of being a nuisance to the other one.

"O- oh, you really don't, have to make anything for me, I can do it by myself, please- I'll-" Pickle tried to explain awkwardly, words betraying him as he wasn't quite sure of what he was even saying to begin with. The idea of someone cooking for him was terrifying. He really didn't feel like he was worth the trouble.

... He would be lying, however, if he were to say that he could actually cook on the state he found himself in. He was simply going to just grab some leftovers and then dip, like he always had done in extreme situations.

Nickel raised his eyebrows towards the vegetable as he placed the ingredients on the countertop carefully, almost as if he knew Pickle wasn't being genuine by the way he tried to make himself digestible. He turned the stove on, to then walk towards where the pans were, grabbing one that was quite big. As far as he's aware, Pickle didn't really eat.

At least, he hasn't seen him eat in ages, and the loss of weight he's achieved freaked him out quite a lot. If he was able to feel emotions in a proper way nowdays, he knows he would feel concerned. Right now, all that remained was apathy. That didn't mean he was going to be cruel or careless, of course. He simply just couldn't bring himself to care, it was easier that way.

"It's fine, dude. I really don't mind. Don't worry." Nickel reassured gently, to which he could feel how Pickle's body relaxed slightly more as he was being met with tranquility rather than an invasive or abrasive comment in return. "Painty came a bit earlier than you before. They were also hungry, they forgot to take care of themselves. You're really not a bother."

Pickle couldn't help but let out an relieved half-chuckle, rubbing one of his arms as an way to comfort himself. A part of him really wished that he could head back to bed right now, but... this was nice. "... Thank you. This is, uhm, really..." His mind didn't know how to keep up a conversation anymore, sadly. The cucumber remained in a constant vagueness of mind state when he wasn't thinking about what happened to him. What happened to his friends.

What happened to Mephone4.

"... Thoughtful. Of you. I appreciate it, dude." Pickle snapped his fingers once he figured out the word he wanted to use.

Nickel hummed in reply as he started to heat the pan, and simply continued preparing an entry for his companion. It was quiet most of the time, the cucumber played with his hands as his eyes tried to focus on the rest of the room, and the coin was seasoning the eggs and bacon carefully.

Eventually, despite quite often trying to escape any sort of conversation he could potentially have with anyone in the island nowdays, the culinarian spoke, trying to sound at least a bit more inviting. It was quite clear that they weren't used to eachother, much less used to speaking to one another. But they both wanted to try.

"Hey, Pickle. Do you want chocolate chips on your waffles? Or do you like just plain ones. No wrong answers." The long-haired man asked, grabbing a packet from the fridge in case Pickle did want them. He turned around and saw how the eyes of the vegetable glistened at his offer, too shy to actually answer, yet the soulful stare was more than enough.

Nickel wishes that he could remember how to laugh. It was... strangely endearing, almost familiar. He simply continued with his motions. The smell was quite pleasant! Pickle didn't know his companion was actually quite solid at this.

"Hey- uh, Nickel? No offense like, at all, but... when did you get so good at cooking? OJ used to have you banned from the kitchen back then, what happened during these past months? J- Just curious, you don't have to answer that. It smells heavenly. " He immediately retracted his own words, afraid of being too invasive, afraid of saying the wrong thing. What if he messes up? He can't afford that. Not anymore.

Pickle was aware that Nickel has been going through... complicated situations. He never knew the specifics, but he was aware it had to do something with Balloon, Baseball and... Suitcase. He didn't know much about people nowdays either.

The coin paused his movements for a bit, trying to figure out a way to reply, focusing on flipping the bacon as the waffles were cooking separately. It was weird, whenever he thought about it too much.

Everyone said that his food was very enjoyable, quite delectable. He wasn't even able to properly use a stove back then. He should be happy about the fact they enjoy his food, that they looked forward to it.

It wasn't fullfilling at all.

"Without anyone left in my life, I have a lot of time for myself nowdays. Besides, they assigned me this job for. Whatever reason. I really don't get why they didn't let us choose? That's weird, right? I can't be the only one that thinks it's weird." Nickel complained as he pinched the bridge of his nose, frustrated by the situation, trying not to think too much about it before he felt something other than numbness, as he knew he wouldn't be able to stop it.

"Anyways, I guess I kind of had no choice. You can't really serve burnt food to the customers, you know?" He had served the eggs and bacon in a plate that he had prepared before, now focusing on finishing the waffles. Maybe a drink would be nice, too.

Pickle hummed in reply, nodding with understanding, pondering on how the days used to be when the others and... her... were around this place. He remembers that Nickel was involved in some accident with the sink, which probably meant that it wasn't really good. They supposedly have an leader that focuses on safety, and everyone knows that in the worst cases, death was permanent. They didn't care.

"Right..." Pickle responded, unsure on how to ask him about it, hand resting on the back of his neck, silence remaining while Nickel was eventually finishing his dish. Shortly after, he had spoken once again, a bit more confident than before. "Are you... doing alright? I don't think this should be your full responsability. Have you tried talking to OJ about it? He'd understand." I hope.

Nickel sneered at that thought, yet he tried to keep it to himself. "Right, OJ. He's not really good at doing his job. Like, think of it. I shouldn't even be here to begin with." He clicked his tongue, turning back to the fridge to grab some chocolate milk. He looks back at Pickle, asking briefly. "You want some?"

Once he got confirmation, Nickel continued speaking.

"Tea Kettle wasn't a bad pick for the job! Don't get me wrong, she's good at cooking, that's the one smart choice he made. Then he picked me, despite having me banned in the kitchen, so that was a bad start. Then Cheesy. I still don't know why. Trophy... He's not horrible, surprisingly, but putting him on the same place as Cheesy is just a bit annoying!" Pickle could practically feel the progressive stress coming from the form of currency, shuddering at that thought.

"What about Candle? I heard that she serves- used to serve, around here." Pickle added, he thought that maybe in a way OJ wanted to make the most of it for everyone, but he wouldn't know. Pickle himself wasn't really given a job. Probably because the juice man knew he wouldn't be able to keep up given to the new... addition.

"Yeah. She wasn't really good at it. For some reason she kept burning the food while bringing it to others- which I still don't really get. There's no reason for her to put it on top of her light." The coin added, finally serving the waffles on the plate, making sure each item of the dish was put together nicely. "So we really just have Soap doing it. She used to be the one that took it the most seriously out of the servers." At least she doesn't put chemicals on the food anymore.

"..." Pickle knew about the last person. But his lips pursed as he thought about her. Saying the liar's name made him feel uneasy, and Nickel noticed.

He also didn't like her very much.

"Taco isn't around anymore, don't worry. She wasn't good at her job, anyway. I don't know if she just didn't know what she was doing, or if she was incompetent on purpose, but Soap had to practically do everything for her." Nickel rolled his eyes as he remembered the lack of care or genuine intent behind Taco's actions. Why did they allow her in again? And why was Mic in charge of helping her get better. Mic. The one Taco had... hurted the most.

Nickel doesn't know.

But he does know that he doesn't really like what Mic became very much.

"She never really tried to do better. She still hasn't tried. So don't worry, you're not in the wrong." Nickel comforted, grabbing a fork and knife and placing it next to the food, now handing it to Pickle. "Here."

The exhausted man grabbed the plate gently, and as much as he would love to absolutely demolish it like there was no tomorrow, he knew that it wouldn't be wise to eat such an amount of food in a very short period of time. He gave the culinarian a sheepish smile, thankful for the gestures.

"Thank you so much. This looks amazing..." Pickle placed it on the counter top in order to cut the bacon and eggs properly, and then munched. His eyes sparkled with joy, as he let out an happy hum, Nickel sliding in a cup of hot chocolate after a while next to him, to which the vegetable couldn't help but let his gratitude be known.

The shorter man finally grabbed his cigarette and lighter again, allowing himself to take a break. He inhaled and let out a long puff of smoke, as the vegetable kept savourizing his food.

... It was peaceful. To be with someone that doesn't look down on you. That treated you as a person.

"You haven't missed out on much." Nickel commented, maybe getting a bit too comfortable with the new company he's been given. Pickle seemed to understand that all of this was very wrong in many levels, which made it easier to talk without a filter.

They could never be unhappy here. They're not allowed to be.

"They're just making a mockery out of him nowdays. It's all they've done ever since he left." Nickel moved the hand that held the cigarette in circles, expressing his disdain more physically than emotionally, being too emotionally out of it to properly show his emotions through words, and even so, his discomfort was more than tangible.

His companion made sure to chew on his food properly, before replying to that comment. They really didn't have much else to do, might as well make the most of it.

"... Maybe it was for the best. That Mephone4 left, I mean." Pickle answered, as he cuts down into the waffles, lost in thought. "I don't think he would've been too happy with the way everyone ended up being."

Nickel nodded, focusing on taking his time during cigarette puffs, trying his best to not bother the other one with the smell. "Tell me about it. I can't even... recognize most of these people anymore."

Pickle paused briefly, wondering if it would've been okay to ask the currency about it. The one person that came to mind first was... Balloon. The vegetable himself stopped talking to him a long time ago, but the way he was acting- even if they hadn't spoken for too long, bothered him in such a way he can't explain.

The green-haired man finally concluded that perhaps it would be a good idea to talk about it.

He was aware that Nickel used to be quite close to Balloon, and he assumed that currently, their relationship was not on the best of terms. Judging by the poet's avoidant behavior, at least, since before Pickle started locking himself in his room as usual, he remembered that the coin no longer hung out with the poet.

He remembered how melancholic Nickel's face looked, how he hid his presence whenever Suitcase and Balloon were together in the same room, almost as if he were something the poet should be ashamed of.

Much like how Microphone avoided facing Pickle once she became Taco's roommate, and how her gaze turned bitter over time. Frankly, he didn't like to see her, or think about her these days.

Try to forget her.
Try to forget her.
Try to forget her.
Try to...

... He swallowed hard, then continued the conversation, choosing to start strong—although, to be completely fair, there was really no way to start calmly. This whole thing was a disaster on so many levels. No one was really happy, but no one was brave enough to make a change.

They just went back to their roots. To the show. As if nothing had mattered.

“How have things been with Balloon?” Pickle asked dryly, which caught Nickel off guard, his grip on his cigarette becoming slightly clumsy at the mention of his once-best friend. He frowned slightly and grimaced, his lips curling in discomfort.

“Geez, sensitive spot much?” That was his response a few seconds later, smoking a little before responding properly, his manner of speaking becoming more closed off as a result.

"I really don't... know where to start, to be honest. But... not good. I haven't really talked to him in a while. I was thinking about doing so recently, but I found out that a few days ago he participated in a play that mocked our elimination. In season two. And he had the role of Suitcase." Gradually his tone became more and more apologetic, as if he felt bad for complaining about this. And for the most part, that was why.

Nickel firmly believed that, as much as Balloon's attitude hurted him, in a way, he deserved it for the way he had treated him in the past.

But that was the worst part.

They had become close. They had become best friends. They worked together, and they made eachother better. They had their issues, of course, but they overcomed them. They talked. So why did—

... So why did Balloon decide to lie to him?

He didn't have to forgive him. Nickel would've been okay if they never we're friends again, as much as it would've hurted, he could've survived that. It would've been fine if they never had crossed paths again, if they simply let their curses out to rest. There was no shame in Balloon leaving.

So why did he choose to lie? Why did he choose to "fix" their relationship? Was it because of the stress of the moment, out of pity at how pathetic Nickel looked at the moment?

Or did he want to make it hurt for him?

Did he want his "best friend" to experience the pain of solitude, the grief of being left behind?

Or did he felt like he had to make it up to Suitcase? Like he has betrayed her for becoming friends with Nickel? Was Balloon that much of a coward to just not cut their friendship off?

He doesn't know.

And whatever the reason may be, it wouldn't make him feel any better.

Pickle swallowed his food, nodding with sympathy as he listened to the cook, and his gaze turned soft when he noticed how Nickel tried to make his feelings smaller by each second.

"I know that I shouldn't really complain, and that I kind of had it coming, and that it could be way worse, it's just... it sucks, you know?" Nickel quickly tried to make himself digestible, as an very profound thought established itself in his brain during these past few months:

He wasn't in the right to feel hurt.

Pickle disagreed, quickly devouring his waffles before speaking, which resulted in him dryly coughing before he was even able to form a proper sentence. Nickel looked at him with concern, but Pickle gently shook his hand, signaling that he was alright. Jesus Christ.

"You didn't- HRAGhH- cough-RAUGH," Pickle grabbed the cup of hot chocolate carefully, taking a few sips, to then sigh relieved. The cucumber focused on Nickel now that his plate was completely empty. "You did NOT deserve that, dude. Like. At all. That's just messed up."

The currency pursed his lips briefly, to then look away from his companion, as an empty "heh" came out from his mouth. He didn't try to refute his statement. A brief pause made it's presence, as the two men weren't sure of how to tackle one of the other elephants in the room. The one that pushed Pickle back to step one.

The coin smokes a bit once more.

"... What about Mic? I'm assuming she's not around anymore." Nickel immediately regretted the way he said that, noticing how pitiful Pickle's expression has turned by the reminder of his old friend.

Quickly, he tried to make it less uncomfortable, without much success. "Given that Taco isn't either, at least."

"Y-yeah... I haven't seen her in a bit either, but, she stopped looking in my general direction months ago." Pickle murmured, before taking another sip of his drink.

There were many thoughts going on his head, yet they were all too complicated to word them out. His mind went back to the one that sacrificed himself for one of the people he had wronged, a bittersweet, mostly sour smile shown on Pickle's lips.

"... It's almost like I never existed for her. I wanted to talk to Knife about it. I don't... I don't think he would be able to do much, though." It pained him to admit it, to recognize that no one would be able to save him or aid him, not even himself. Not anymore. It came out in a bitter laugh.

Not here.

Yet it remained to be the truth. If he were to be honest with himself, the cucumber would've confessed that he felt like it would be selfish to asking for help.

Sure, he knows that he's in the right for not forgiving Taco— he knows that his loved ones shouldn't have had the right to determine if she should be back like nothing happened, he knew that the fool didn't change,

And he knew better than anyone that she wasn't even trying to despite being given an cheap, non-deserved second chance.

... Yet, the corrosive, intrusive thought of forgiving her just to feel less bad kept dancing in his head. What if, just, somehow, he was in the wrong for keeping that resentment?

What if his own beliefs were what caused him to be in such a state?

What if Taco was actually, really trying?

What did she even say to Microphone to convince her and change her this much?

The grip around the mug tightened as the melancholic one slowly started to drift away in thought, eyes glossy the more he thought about the inherent hopelessness of the situation.

No one was around to help him. Maybe because no one wanted to deal with that bag of worms anymore. It was rotten work.

Nickel grimaced ever so slightly at the mention of his once friend, someone he even considered a brother once a long time ago, the deceased blade. In some level, he understood what the cucumber meant. Having Knife around was... reassuring, really.

At least, it used to be. Nowdays he's barely a person anymore. Nickel never cared for their coding too much, nor did he really get it. It was stupid, in his mind.

It didn't make him think any less of Mephone4, either.

He didn't know how to explain it, but he somehow felt more resentment towards some of the people in his life currently, rather than actually being upset with the one who "caused" all of this.

The coin can't help but ponder; what would the actual Knife do in this situation? Would he save them? Would he makes the others realize what they're doing is wrong? One fact was for certain. He wouldn't give up even if he couldn't leave that darned haunted manor. Now, he's gone.

Nickel chuckled. What a disgrace. To be completely alone and helpless in a place that's keeping you alive out of conveniente, out of spite. He didn't want to live like this. He hasn't felt like a person in months. He has forgotten that was an option.

"Honestly? I agree. I don't know if he'd be able to help a lot. He seems to... no longer be himself anyways." It pained him to say it, yet there was a truth that lingered in his words. Pickle grimaced, trying to keep himself together at the reality of the situation. "... He would've known what to do."

Pickle nodded in reply, playing with his hands briefly.

"... I- I haven't left my room in a while. I didn't want to face anybody. I was... scared, to come here. Even while I am starving." The cucumber admitted, even if it was quite easy to figure out due to his dirty clothes and messy... well, everything.

It didn't matter if he covered himself. It was a bit obvious.

Nickel gave him an empathetic look.

"I know. It's okay." Nickel comforted the taller man, despite his voice being uncomfortably hollow. He did it mean it, though. "I won't tell anybody. You're welcome to come here anytime you'd like." Nickel took a brief pause to smoke again.

"... I don't think I can. I don't want to risk... seeing Taco." Pickle replied, and despite trying to bring compassion, Nickel didn't know what to reply at that. All he can hope for is that the liar wasn't there anytime soon. "It's stupid, I know. And I know she's... not, targetting me, right now. But I know her intentions." Pickle wasn't resentful.

Really, he wasn't a resentful at all. He was a forgiving and understanding guy. He liked to believe that people were able to get better despite it all, and learn from what they've done.

This was the one exception.

The coin paused his words for a few seconds, trying to figure out what to say, not wanting to insist, nor wishing to questionate the taller one. "No, it's not. I get it. I... think?" Nickel replied, looking up to the ceiling, tired eyes resting for a bit. "They're not fooling anyone, really."

They were in complete silence for a while. Maybe they just didn't know what else to talk about, perhaps the topic became sour way too quickly, and it was possible that they were just simply too alone to remember how to talk to people.

The abscene of the chat wasn't uncomfortable nor unwelcoming, though. Neither of them seemed to mind.

Pickle forgot that he was done here. That he didn't need to stay.

Nickel, for the first time in ages, actually felt like a person. Even if it was for a brief moment, and it scared him. After a while, Pickle decided to start washing his dishes, and hummed a old tune while doing it.

The cook tapped the ridges of his head with nervousness, trying to figure out if this was actually a safe space, while also not wanting to make it too uncomfortable for the two of them. A few minutes had passed, and the cucumber had started cleaning other plates and dishes as well, seemingly focused on what he was doing.

Nickel put aside the box of cigarettes, taking a deep breath before speaking. He was never the best with words, yet, he... had a question.

"... Hey, Pickle?" The currency spoke, catching the vegetable's attention almost immediately.

"Hm?" The melancholic one answered, as he continued with his motions calmly- well. As calm as he could now that he got snapped out of his trance, his hands being ever so slightly clumsy with their grip now.

Well. It's now or never.

"... Do you ever feel bad for missing someone you never actually knew?" The coin replied, doubt in the way his words came across. Nickel knew the answer, probably, but he still wanted to know. "As in... never got the chance to actually meet them. And feeling like you're not allowed to anymore."

Pickle was silent for a moment, and his expression was unreadable. Whether he was upset or hurt by the question, the chef didn't actually knew. The coin pursed his lips, expecting the taller one to...

... Actually. He didn't know. He didn't know what to expect of Pickle.

Assuming didn't feel right.

Not after what they've been talking about.

However, Pickle did respond.

"... Yeah." The cucumber affirmed, his eyes lingering on his reflection on the soapy water. "I think I'm used to it by now." Pickle chuckled, his voice turning broken at the end of that sentence, a bitter smile growing as his eyes were now glossy. "... I think. It's even worse, or- just as bad, if you feel like that person you once met and loved, the person that helped you get better. Never even... existed."

Nickel felt his own eyes get water-y, and he tried to force a snicker, all that came out was a sad, weak titter.

Oh.

He was crying.

Pickle completely stopped his motions to focus on his... friend? Companion? Was it too early to call this a friendship? Maybe, they only exchanged a few words and the coin made him some food. It didn't matter to Pickle. And it probably didn't matter to Nickel, either.

Nickel didn't like to cry. Once he started doing so, it was really difficult to stop. He really didn't know what was up with him.

He's never cried about his current situation.

No matter how much he's seen Balloon checking to see if he was still in the room whenever Suitcase was around,

no matter how cold Suitcase's looks were towards him,

no matter how time and time again he has seen Baseball be happier without any of the other slams, without the original alliance they had,

no matter how much he's been hurt, he's never cried about it. He swore that he became numb at one point.

And maybe, he did.

But perhaps, knowing that he wasn't alone, knowing that someone understood him and didn't blame him for the way he felt, knowing that someone was just as miserable as him— as terrible as it sounded— brought him a sense of comfort, a warmth he hasn't felt in what it felt like forever.

And then, he felt strong arms holding him close, rubbing his back softly, a chin resting on his shoulders as a sob was heard. Nickel hugged back quicker than he'd like to admit, no words were shared, just their grief and sorrow for what they once called their home.

Spring and autumn, up and down,

They need to try to escape this town, and they just might,

they'll take flight,

... maybe tomorrow, not tonight.