"Fresh?"
"What up my swaggy homeslice?"
"Why won't you talk about yourself?"
"..."
"Just don't ask, (Y/n)."
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-
You trot down the sidewalk, sparing glances at Fresh who decided to follow you to school. He scanned the surroundings, skating on his shakeboard. His hands were shoved in his neon green hoodie pockets and kicked the ground every now and then to keep up with you. He's been very distant towards you and it hurt. Ever since you asked that one simple question, he started to get very quiet. It was unusual for him.
"It's so totally unfair that you're staying seriously quiet..." Fresh speaks up behind you.
"I should say the same thing to you." You retort, venom dripping off your words.
A pang of guilt strikes him in the ribcage, fists clenching and unclenching in his front hoodie pockets. He knew the curiosity was killing you, but he couldn't afford telling you about Error or much about himself. Don't you think it would freak someone out saying: "Hey, I have no soul, multiple tongues, a half brother that can kill you, and I can take your soul whenever I want!"
Doesn't seem very smart telling you that at all.
He watches you back from under his shades, eyes narrowing on your clenched up fists by your sides. You half stomped, half marched to school. He didn't have to look at your face to know you were scowling so hard to could scare someone.
"Look, I know you're mad at me, but can you please let it go?"
You stop in your fury filled tracks, whirling around and crossing your arms. He stops his skateboard in front of you, smiling nervously. Your eyes glaze over with harshness, jaw tightening.
"I've known you for... what? A month now? And you still haven't told me anything about yourself." You look down, feeling hurt.
He flinches, seeing you look upset about the situation. He can't just tell you everything all at once. You're one of the only two friends he has. Telling you his messed up life would make you horrified and never want to see him again. Sighing, he pats your head lovely.
"Look, I can't tell you much about myself because, frankly, you'll be terrified after. But I will let you see my friend later if that'll make you feel better..." He rubs the back of his skull, looking anywhere but you.
Your mind goes to the worst place possible. What if he's a murderer? He can't tell you because you'll be terrified? That makes you feel worse. Why not just tell you and get it over and done with? It's not fair to him or you.
"Friends don't keep secrets... but I'll let it go." You whisper, turning back around and continuing on your way.
Friend. That word makes him cringe. He's an unfinished AU with no Papyrus; no underground friends at all. For over 200 years he's been stuck with Error who only hurt him mentally. The word friend so sounds nice it makes him hurt. He watches you walk off, sighing under his breath.
"Heh, if only you knew..."
You overhear him, eyes closing and heart starting to race. He's a colourful skeleton that uses the worst language in world history.
What is so bad about him he can't tell you?
You're sick of secrets. You're sick of friendships that will die out after awhile.
You're sick of lying.