"You can't play the game that way. You have to be willing to go back in and try again. Just because you failed once doesn't mean you'll fail every time."

After a few hours of playing video games in his room, Pickle decided to head to bed. But the past few nights, no matter how hard he tried, all he'd been able to think about while trying to fall asleep was Knife.

His life advice thinly veiled as pointers for a video game had been genuinely helpful. He'd realized he was so hung up on Taco that he wasn't allowing himself to move on and spend time with people who were really his friends. Pickle didn't enjoy being miserable and paranoid that everyone was going to end up using him, even when he could rationalize that wasn't true. So he decided to begin making an effort to move on.

There were plenty of things to do and people to become close to in the hotel! Salt and Pepper were attempting to start a fashion club, the Cherries were forming an improv troupe, and OJ and Paper were in talks of starting a yoga class. He didn't have an excuse to spend his time moping, or at least he didn't want to have one. His struggles and insecurities weren't going to be alleviated overnight, but not making an effort at all had done nothing but worsen them.

And it wasn't like Knife wasn't the only person in the hotel who played video games. There was Tissues, who... well, just sneezed all over the controllers and screen, Trophy, who always threw a huge fit whenever he didn't win, and Yin-Yang, who just argued with themself until they couldn't even play the game anymore. He would play with Apple, but she didn't know how to play any of the games in the hotel and was impossible to teach.

He'd been trying to get to know all the new contestants that had been eliminated. For example, he'd gotten to know the Cherries fairly well, but they were busy working on recruiting members for their improv troupe and pulling pranks. Pickle wasn't very good at improv and didn't feel like doing something that could harm others' opinions of him while he was still pursuing new friendships. Tissues was gross and always tired, reminding him too much of himself at his worst. Box was, well, not exactly the best conversationalist, Yin-Yang was annoying, and Trophy was rude and annoying.

On the thought of Trophy, Pickle did have good reason to hate him now that he was reassured that Knife was still his friend. He remembered watching Trophy blackmail him while watching early episodes of the new Inanimate Insanity season and feeling horrible the entire time. Knife didn't deserve to be treated so badly just because he liked a doll. It just made Pickle miss him even more.

Admittedly, he'd ended up pretty lonely without not one, but two of the people he had considered good friends as of late.

...

He really wished Knife was still with him in the hotel.

If only he were in Season 2, or if Knife wasn't. The next time he'd get to see him would be if he got eliminated, which he doubted would happen any time soon, or after the finale, which was even further away. So instead of thinking he was missing Taco, he was just genuinely missing Knife. Great.

Well, he supposed it was better than whatever he'd been feeling about Taco. She betrayed him, but... he missed the Taco that was random and fun and who he thought was his friend, even if she didn't exist. He ached knowing how long he spent missing a person who wasn't even real, and after so long he'd finally realized his best friend was imaginary.

There was a point where he thought he loved her or had been in love with her, but now he knew he didn't. He never did. He wouldn't make that mistake again.

You can't let one bad experience ruin it. Otherwise, you'll never move on to the next stage.

He could be sure of that because Knife would never betray him like she did.

...

Wait.

Pickle jolted up from his bed and covered his mouth, eyes wide, his train of thought coming to a screeching halt.

"Oh man," he muttered to himself, hands now on his cheeks. He'd started blushing, he could feel it.

Pickle flopped back onto his pillow with a long sigh, hands still pressed onto his face. He wished himself luck getting any sleep that night.