Dust wanted and was determined to ask for Sans's phone number.
Which was difficult. He didn't know how to go about it, he had to have this phone number but he was afraid of Sans's reaction. He was so afraid of him that he told himself he was going to laugh in his face or even make fun of him in front of his gang. It was just bad thoughts that were gorging themselves with poison, the one of which was slowly killing his determination. But his jealousy, his envy, and all the feelings that were connected to a kind of love made him react while his left hand had landed on Sans's right femur, his hand tightening. And of course, that had caught Sans's attention, who had turned to Dust before grabbing his humerus in an attempt to wake him from his sudden reverie. Finally, was it really a daydream? Maybe it looked like one of his episodes. Or maybe something else, who knows?
Sans : « Dust? Dust! Is everything alright? » At the hearing of his name, the concerned turned before looking at the skeleton with white pupils in the eye sockets, his being wide open. Like he was terrified of something. Anyway, no one could know what was going on in his skull from time to time. It was just crazy outbursts that drove him mad until he pulled away from everyone to avoid feeling bad afterwards. His brother, who had already left too soon through his fault, was already too much on his conscience, he didn't want to erase someone who was often in his daily life.
And simple words had formed in his mind.
Especially not Sans. He never wanted to erase Sans.
He wanted him for himself. And only himself.
Dust : « Can I get your phone number? » And it just came out of his mouth like that, and it was better to feel free than to regret now. He was going to see Sans's reaction and if he didn't like it, he was going to give him a good punch. No matter what Killer, Nightmare, or anyone thinks, he just wants to be treated well by someone he was really starting to like.
And Sans slowly pulled something out of his pocket before Dust realized it was his phone. He turned it on, went to his contacts before going to create a contact, he gave Dust the phone, a smile on his face. He had to trust him. Because if he didn't trust Sans, everything would be ruined. He had to trust him. And some people really cared about their phones, not Sans. He cared more about his notebooks. And the threads they hide? Nobody's going, and Dust wasn't going to go dig into his chats the first time, was he? It just doesn't happen, he knew he had nothing to touch on his phone right now. He just had to see if the hooded one wasn't doing shit. So he was still going to watch what he was doing. And nothing better than being a little romantic. Even if it wasn't his thing.
He rested his skull on Dust's shoulder. Staring at the screen of his phone where Dust had already marked his number. He was already writing his name, but he had cut himself in the middle. Slowly turning to Sans with some purple blush on his cheekbones.
Dust : « Huh? » He swallowed in pain, his soul beating rapidly. His gaze focused on Sans's but he looked away when he felt one of his legs get kicked. And the person who did that was none other than Killer, looking Dust with a murder look to let him know that he should avoid that kind of thing when he was around. But no one had talked about when Killer wasn't around. Besides, he didn't care, this guy was just too possessive about things and Dust wanted to seek comfort. He therefore finishes marking his name before saving the contact. Giving the phone to its owner.
Sans : « Thanks! And also, Killer. » The white-pupils skeleton quickly turned to the one with the red target before placing its skull in its right hand, maintaining some sort of bored pose or whatever. He held his skull in his hand, and Killer stiffened.
Killer : « Mh? What do you want, darling? » Sans's smile widened as his eye sockets wrinkled without really wrinkled too much. An eerie aura emanates from him as he stares at the blackness in the eye sockets of the black-tears skeleton. It was hard to believe that he hadn't felt the vibrations of the table and the fact that Dust had stopped staring at him for nothing. He just understood. You shouldn't take him for someone stupid either, he was far from it. Smart enough to piece together enough clues to conclude.
Sans : « You will have to quit kicking Dust. Don't think I didn't notice it. » Sans's smile widens as he closes his eye sockets, Killer's eye sockets seem to have the same effect as those of the skeleton with the white pupils. Dust stood startled as his soul started beating fast again, faster than his own fear, or anything else. He fell little by little, his gaze became softer. His hand on Sans's femur suddenly tightens again, his thumb caresses the bone slowly and gently. His feelings were just completely distorted, misunderstood. He wanted Sans, but he wanted to take him away from him so as not to hurt him, he wanted to touch him, to cuddle him, to appreciate him, to kiss him. He wanted to do everything but his soul or some fearful part of him kept him from falling in love properly. But he somehow knew that another part of his soul was attached to the beauty, the voice and the totality of Sans. And despite his own desire, his own love, the sadness and the fear of remaining alone once again because he had let himself go still frightened him. However, the consequences of his fear that had become a toxic part of him didn't want to let go of doing Sans his.
So, Killer, you can go fuck yourself deep.
Killer : « How? » Sans spooned rice with Kimchi and an egg, shoving it all into his mouth as he began to chew. Placing his hand in front of his mouth to avoid looking too dirty or otherwise. He swallowed it all before placing some things back into his spoon. He sighed as he patted Dust's hand. He then turned to Killer.
Sans : « You should apologize, right? » The skeleton with black tears didn't feel like apologizing, but he couldn't say no to Sans. He could never, he loved him too much to give up because of his own pride. He wanted Sans to accept his love, and if that doesn't work after a little while, he'll find himself using force. But he hopes not. It was just to keep it from falling into the hands of someone worse, right? Someone like Nightmare, or Mafia, or Error 404, or anyone else that wasn't him. Dust was among his 'rivals', but Nightmare didn't agree with murdering the comrades.
He inhales and exhales deeply before looking at the hooded skeleton in the shadow that covered his face.
Killer : « Dust, I'm sorry for kicking you. » Sans smiled at Killer before clapping his hands together, Nightmare sneered at the grimace the one with the red target was making. It was rare for him to apologize, after all, he wasn't one to do that because of his shitty character. The little one started to eat again, taking more and more bites, Dust seemed to have calmed down, Horror was almost done, Error seemed to love his food, in fact, everyone seemed to like it.
Sans just grabbed a single bunch of Kimchi before shoving it into his mouth, it was crunchy, it was fresh, it was just delicious. Nightmare seemed to have an appreciation for Kimchi, too. I mean, he kept taking it in all his bites, and often it was Kimchi on its own. At the same time, Kimchi was the freshest, spicy, and delicious thing Sans had ever experienced, so it was only natural that others seemed to like it so much, right? It was also very good for your health, it was like soy sauce, there was always a positive effect with Korean traditional food. Knowing how to cook was always a huge plus, people loved to eat. So if he didn't know how to do that, that would be a problem. It's true that he would make a perfect husband with this kind of talent for cooking, he had often been told that he was good at many things. His general culture was impressive, his intelligence, his cooking, his beauty, his addictiveness, his body, his voice, his aura, his touch, everything about him had to be perfect.
Sans : « Nightmare, do you like Kimchi? » The concerned turned in the direction of the smaller forward before shaking his head, still chewing on the Kimchi. One of its tentacles came to cling to Sans's ankle and others to his legs. And the fact that it's happening under the table, it was just a horrible feeling of being blind. He was powerless against Nightmare. Because, after all, he was not a physical person. This 'Mafia' seemed to have pointed it out.
Already a weak point of revealed, how pathetic it was.
He felt a tentacle rising up his spine, splitting into several tentacles that clung to his ribs. He grabbed the tentacle, giving Nightmare a sour look. He didn't want any of these atrocities to touch his soul. Or just his body in general, it was just too disgusting.
He sighed as he looked at Nightmare for a few seconds, making him realize that he was uncomfortable with the tentacles, but that only made him smile. It was negativity, whatever it was, it was negativity. And the tar-like skeleton was very satisfied to know that this was Sans's negativity. It excited him.
“𝓜𝔂 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓫𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓭𝓲𝓼𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓮.”
—
Sans was walking through the large gardens, the main courtyard.
He finally had a bit of calm, of rest, something that was connected to the much-deserved silence after so much commotion. It was just a need, these last days. He couldn't do without a break, without a little break, and often that break was ruined because someone showed up to ruin everything. Or was it just that the break was over. But sometimes, he liked to postpone the end of this break but the reminder that he should not try to be in depression was stronger.
It was insignificant and impressive stupidity when you really think about it. An abuse of his own freedom to tell himself that he had to do something all the time. He believed he always had to do something that at least helped him achieve his goal. It was smart, but dangerous to his own sanity.
But frankly, what sanity?
He didn't have one, he wasn't sure that after certain things he had done, that he wasn't still a person who would have a thing to appease certain souls. His second nature was to lie and if it had a price, he wouldn't hesitate to buy it. It was how people with black soul traits acted, lying, searching, observing, acting, leaving. A boy running away from the reality he created around himself so he wouldn't have to deal with the own shit he caused. That was it, a liar and a manipulator. He was going to ruin everything for his own pleasure or his own need. So much so that it became less and less realistic. A weapon always loaded.
A cool wind passes over his cervical vertebrae. Making him jump and shiver.
But it didn't sound like a common wind. It was strange, like a curious but distant sigh, a request to approach from a being far from him who observes him. But thinking about it, it's true that he had the impression of being observed. At first it just wasn't clear, it was just weird, had he perhaps thought about the feeling of loneliness given that he was alone? Being alone was always very strange. Especially in open spaces such as gardens.
He slowly looked around, everywhere he needed to know who was watching him, and in a way he couldn't explain, his skull turned in a random direction towards the woods. There seemed to be an indistinct dirt road. And to be honest, it attracted Sans, it wanted to make him go there.
Nah, Sans had to go there.
What the fuck was this?
Sans tucked his hands into his pockets before starting to walk towards this dirt road, breathing in the cool morning air. It had been, in a way, so long that he hadn't been able to choose to go outside for a bit. He remembers that on the weekends, the children were allowed to go out in town to go shopping, to walk (As for example, for Sans: In the city, in a forest...etc). On weekends, it was just to be quiet, not to be disturbed, to spend time with friends, to eat in restaurants, or for him, to scout the surroundings. And also try to get to know new people who, externally, can describe the rumors to him, the real ones. But he doubted that Killer would have lied to him at the point where he is. He was going to ask Nathalie or Evelyn if there was this kind of system for the weekend. He was clearly surprised to see that she had shown up in the kitchen to see his preparations.
Sans entered the dirt road, slowly examining the surroundings, being only trees and more trees, grass, leaves, a few benches lying around here and there. A path of the most basic basically. Sans started to walk looking everywhere around him, he liked nature, but not here, it was weird here. The atmosphere was too strange, there was something, no, several things that were wrong. He didn't know why, but it smelled like death.
He sighed as he quickly took out his notebook to look at the map he had made of the Orphanage, he should probably note the existence of this dirt road too. It was always helpful to know as much as possible to have an option.
And the further Sans went, the colder the atmosphere became, no, it was cold. It was terribly cold. So much so that Sans had to zip up his jacket and press his skull against his cervical vertebrae. Not too much, it was just so that his jacket and his dangling hood would warm him up as much as possible. The sky was gray. And the further he went, the more he saw something in the distance. Like some sort of gate?
And when he realized it, he froze on the spot.
It was the gate of a kind of small cemetery with about twenty or thirty graves.
And holy shit, it was chilling to see that.
Sans wandered into the graveyard looking around, gazing at the multiple names lying on the graves with rotten flowers and an often present plaque "A Lamented Child". And some plates probably from friends or whatever. But the most shocking thing was how many dead there were, Sans started counting them. Then it went from 1, to 10 then to 23, 30 and 36.
There were 36 graves.
Sans swore as he remembered Jonathan's letter, pulling out his notebook again before scrolling through the pages so he could find where he had hidden that precious letter. And once this letter was in his hand, he began to zigzag between the graves, his goal being to find the grave of the concerned. He would see if he could place a flower on it for that matter. A simple form of respect for a dead person, even if it was a hell of a waste of time and money. But if some people could see it in a good way, it was still and always an advantage. And a new theory surfaced in him; And if all these children were those that Nathalie would have 'eliminated'. It was very likely if Jonathan had his grave here.
And by pure chance, this tomb had appeared in his field of vision.
But there was a kind of block because of the shock. It was difficult to get near the grave, because he was somehow afraid that the same thing would happen to him if he got caught. Any good person could be afraid of death if it were real. Sans could just say that it was both beautiful and terrifying. But that was probably going to happen after a while, but not now. A skeleton never dies by age, nor by disease, it will always be in battle. And in this kind of situation, the governess was physically stronger than him.
He sighed as he stared at the letter for a few seconds before putting it back in his notebook, putting it back in his blue jacket pocket. Warm white mist from his mouth stands out in the air that seems as icy as snow. He hugged himself as he looked at the grave, a picture with a broken frame lying next to the same symmetrical plaque. 'A Lamented Child' with engravings of a name, a birth and a death. Jonathan Paterson, 1995 - 2010. A Lamented Child, joined his family from his brutal accident on February 7, 2010. Rest in peace. Sans huffed sarcastically as he read the word 'accident'.
But the most striking thing was that this child was the same age as him.
15 years old.
He was 15 years old.
Sans sighed tremulously before placing his hand in front of his mouth. It was quite striking to see that right in front of him, it made him feel like vomiting, above all. A disgust for Nathalie.
Reaper : « May I know why are you here? » Sans jumped back a few steps, coughing hysterically for a few seconds before facing the taller looking cold and distant being. Who looked quite creepy like the Grim Reaper.
This white skeleton with shadowy black eye sockets wore a kind of large black tunic, a hood covering his face, but not as much as Dust. The shadow was not so thick. His hood took a little more shape thanks to a rope whose ends were attached to a little skull. An animal skull perhaps? His waist was also imprisoned in a rope which traced his body a little better, the tunic was just more beautiful with this rope on his waist. It also made him much more terrifying. A scythe in his left hand as big as him. He wasn't smiling.
But they were in a cemetery too! Why smiling when it was not necessary?
Sans : « My! You really scared me, I thought my soul was going to stop beating! » Sans grabbed his chest in some sort of slightly dramatic position, sighing in big gasps of air. However, the taller one didn't seem to be kidding about the fact that Sans could have somehow 'dyed' out of fear. The smaller sighed. He spoke again : « I'm sorry, I don't think you like that kind of jokes. You look really depressed, sad. Want to talk a little? » The one with the missing pupils tilted his head to the side, curious about the sudden change. The skeleton with white pupils looked down in forgiveness for being mildly dramatic.
Reaper : « What is your name? » The voice of the reaper-like one echoed through the graveyard as his thick, slightly broken voice was mistaken for a sigh or a whisper. His voice was really strange, but it seemed to be made to inspire fear and death. However, it had a certain charm that Sans didn't see himself, at first, slightly liking. It sounded like Killer's voice, broken and vicious, but the skeleton in the black tunic sounded slightly deeper and more serious, less vicious, an inspiration of non-ephemeral power. It was really beautiful.
Sans : « Sans, and you, what is your name? » Sans asked, closing his eye sockets for a moment, offering a wide smile to the taller whose back of the hood seems very long and elastic, the end of the hood was floating in the air. In an often repetitive movement, a kind of fake wave that moved up and down. It could even be compared to how a snake slithered across the ground.
Reaper : « Reaper, or Death if you prefer. It's a nickname that suits me a little more. » Sans sneered as he bowed slightly forward in politeness, Reaper seemed to back away slightly. As if he didn't want to be touched. Error also didn't seem to want to be touched, he had noticed that he was always distant from the bodies. Maybe he was a victim of haphephobia? He remembers reading something about it. A very strange but quite serious phenomenon for the victim of this condition since the fear of touch goes both ways. Sans was maybe going to try asking Error, without being too fresh about it of course. He wouldn't like Error to feel so uncomfortable that he didn't trust him anymore. Maybe also bring back a fondant chocolate cake or something like that. The endlessly glitchy looking skeleton seemed to like chocolate immensely.
Sans : « Why is that? And also, may I know the reason for your sudden recoil? Are you afraid that I will touch you? » Reaper, or Death looked startled for a split second before returning to his cold, emotionless build. Lowering his gaze to meet that of the skeleton with white pupils who seemed to be waiting for an answer from him.
What a lovely face.
Reaper : « I cannot touch living beings at the risk of provoking their death. » The blue-jacketed skeleton blinked its eye sockets several times before tilting its skull to the side, this power, it felt a bit directly like death. But, like, the real one! The real real death! Was it possible that this young man in front of him was actually Death itself? He was no longer surprised at this point, this Orphanage should no longer be considered normal when he had learned about the alcohols in the canteen. But having Death directly in the facility was a crazy thing.
Sans : « It's quite strange but impressive I think, I mean, it's unique. Besides, you're pretty cute for Death itself. And you are very tall. Heh, I must have gotten some bad genetics. My height growth must have ended since I was in my mid 14s. » The skeleton with the white pupils would not have seen it, but it had indeed made death itself blush with a celestial blue. And even if the colors on the grim reaper's cheeks had escaped, Sans's charm left no one indifferent.
And besides, no one had ever said that to Reaper. Never! It was the first time that someone complimented him and in addition was not afraid of him. Even though the lethal touch could be controlled, it was still hard for him, he didn't like erasing that talent for a few minutes as it was his real strength. That's how people were afraid of him. That's how they were shaking with fear. He didn't want anyone to know that he could control this for his own purposes. He would one day try to show him, at this little guy, he looked quite likeable and smart. Even if his introduction was not the best. He was going to try to tell him to avoid repeating a rumor that 'Reaper could control his death touch to prevent some from dying'.
Was it bad or good that he didn't know Sans was a manipulator?
—
The skeleton with white pupils walked towards his bed before jumping on it, his body was quite sore, it ached all over. He swore repeatedly while stretching like a cat (the doggy style position, but for stretching), his back cracked about 4/5 times before he collapsed back onto his bed. He then cracked his knuckles, wrists, elbows, shoulders, knees, ankles, and cervical vertebrae (but very lightly).
He sat up, inhaling and exhaling, he had already taken notes in his notebook of this famous 'Reaper', noting on the side that he was probably at the cemetery a lot.
He sighed before getting up, walking completely haphazardly as some people stared at him, watching him. But he didn't seem to care. He just wanted to pretend to walk because he was bored but in reality he was looking for where the letter might be. Because he had already searched 2 whole dormitories. Because, even if it was in this dormitory, it was better to search everywhere. And he had already been enduring an hour of suffering and boredom. The baby dorm was easy, you just had to be quiet and search around, and those for kids between 4 and 10? A horror. You had to play with them while searching and trying not to look suspicious. There was only one hour left before noon.
He turned in a direction when he heard someone who seemed tempted to light a cigarette but failed. And when he saw the hooded skeleton, he sneered as he approached him. He kept trying to light the flame of his lighter, but he seemed to be shaking a lot. His leg was shaking and what he was holding in his right hand seemed unstable. He also had several violent spasms.
Dust : « Fuck, light up, you bastard. » And after a few seconds failing, he looked down. Kicking his bedside table with his foot. His breathing was irregular and his pupils, too, quivered. He was violent.
The skeleton with the white pupils and the blue jacket moved to his side before kneeling slightly to be at Dust's height.
Sans : « Pass me the lighter, I'll light it for you. » The smaller one took the lighter in his hands before lighting it to the great surprise of Dust who approached the tip of his cigarette to the orange flame. He took a deep breath before taking the cigarette between his index and middle finger of his right hand, blowing out the white cigarette smoke that smelled close to burnt coal. He rocked back and forth continuously, being careful not to drop his precious cigarette.
Sans moved to his right, massaging his back in a comforting way. Dust's spasms and tremors seemed to diminish ever so slightly, he placed one of his hands on the left femur of the skeleton with white pupils.
Dust : « Leave, you don't want me to end up hurting you. » The smaller sneered before the hand being placed on his femur moved towards the front of his cervical vertebrae, he was pinned on the bed, the larger one just above him. He took another puff of his cigarette, his rare colored pupils staring straight into Sans's. His hand, strong as it was, rested on Sans's neck bone, one of his knees also resting on Sans's femur. Dust didn't seem in control of himself. Some sort of bloodlust aura stinks in the air.
Like when Killer beat up that red-haired kid.
Sans : « I don't really think you want me to leave, do I? Don't worry, I know what I'm doing. » Sans grabbed the wrist of the strangling hand before placing it to the right of his head. He will come with Dust's body against his before separating his legs to sink a little deeper into the bed, at least in the middle of it. The hooded skull was on his chest while his left arm completely wrapped around his waist, he groaned for seconds before Sans pressed some parts of his cervical vertebrae. It relaxed him, it felt good the hand that was above his head also felt good. The smell, the feel of Sans's body against his, his angelic voice, everything was just perfect for him to enjoy. He crushed his cigarette in his hand.
Dust : « More. » And little by little, then the minutes passed, then Dust felt a kind of sleep invade him. His hold on the blue-jacketed skeleton was tough and he didn't feel like he was releasing it any time soon. He preferred that he stay close to him. A sort of purr emanating from his rib cage, barely audible.
Horror had done well to tell Sans that Dust was having some pretty violent tantrums.
The skeleton with white pupils tilted its head back, just before that he saw a misplaced plank that went all the way to the bottom of Dust's bed. He looked around for a split second before his gaze moved to the sleeping man and then to the wooden plank. He struggles a little at the beginning, he tries to grab the board, to move it with the tips of his bony nails but it doesn't help much.
He sighed before taking his notebook from his jacket pocket before moving the wooden board with it, a strong grip on his precious notebook. Always. He slowly moved the board before he heard a kind of rustle of paper. He thought it was a page from his notebook that had creased, but in truth, he had found what he wanted to find. He then took out his phone, putting on his flash to film the area under the bed before bringing his phone back to him.
And on the video, he had seen it.
The letter.
To be continued.
—