Bfb/ Inanimate Insanity oneshots

Knife & Paper - i wasted like half of my summer tryna hold on your hand

A/N

getting back into the swing of things is harder than it looks
thought i'd mention that i kinda default to third person so i'm gonna stop mentioning the POV unless it changes in a story
also, this is set in the same universe as all the other royal ones i've written for ii with a couuuuuple tweaks here and there
Plus, at least one of you wanted to know who else knife was kissing in the castle, so here's your answer :]

NOTE!!! this oneshot contains:

- a past relationship of Paper/Knife
- an unhealthy/toxic relationship
- swearing oh the horror
- implied sexual activity
- a present relationship of Pickle/Knife
- implied OJ/Paper

Under the gaze of the moonlight, a lake glistened as footsteps padded on a beaten path. A journalist sat on the banks, throwing pebbles to watch the water ripple out like a blooming flower. A gentle chill laced the air, and the sole figure on the lake's banks shivered.

"Paper." The new arrival paused. "You're underdressed for the weather."

Paper resisted another tremble. Soap – the castle nurse – often teased him for these things, as it was all simply a result of bad blood circulation. A pair of scuffed boots stopped beside where Paper sat but they made no move to sit down. Paper looked back to the water.

"Since when have I ever been dressed for it, Knife?" He teased, though it fell flat on the mood between the two. He knew what this was about.

Knife chuckled gruffly. "What, 's that why you could barely spend any time with me in the castle?"

Ouch. Paper didn't like the years of malice crammed into that remark.

"Listen, Knife-"

"No, Paper. Last time I listened to you, I ended up in one of the most miserable places my mind's ever been. I listened to your 'i love you's like you meant them, and you listened to mine like it was my dick talking. Guess we mixed it up, huh?"

Paper stayed quiet at that. Knife took it as an opportunity to go on.

"We were friends, Paper." Knife swallowed, a tremor in his words. "You said we were friends before anything."

"...I thought we were," Paper replied with a grimace, picking lint from his slacks. Knife let out a deep sigh, stepping away from the journalist to take a breather. Paper took the chance to look at the changed man – one who was once a knight but now works in the family bakery downtown. Long black hair now poured over a stained short-sleeved button-up. Strength still rippled beneath his skin in the form of his muscles that Paper once adored oh-so-dearly. His jaw was set and eyes dark as a calloused hand brushed over stubble in thought.

"I thought so too. I really did, Paper, but friends don't pretend to be in love with another friend just because that friend's in love with them."

"Knife, you're not understanding-"

"Yeah," he stomped his boot rather menacingly into the coarse dirt, "I'm not understanding, Paper. Friends don't just do that, they don't take advantage of someone else's feelings to get-"

"It wasn't that!" Paper exclaimed, finally standing up to meet those intimidatingly deep brown eyes. "It wasn't that." He repeated a bit quieter. Knife sauntered closer, face mere inches away from Paper's. A scar went over his jaw and lip which shimmered in the moonlight, and Paper remembered how he used to kiss those lips.

"So then what was it, Paper?"

And what was he meant to say to that? To those dark oak eyes, and those thrillingly sharp canines hidden in a mouth he once knew every centimetre of. What was he meant to say?