(In which the reader is a shy, struggling-to-be-positive workaholic.)

(Requested by a friend)

(This is just a short story)

Oh, the sweet, humid smell of summer. You stood in the kitchen, lumps of chopped vegetables sitting on a cutting board. The window was open, and you could hear the birds singing beautifully while you worked. You'd been planning to make something nice for dinner, as you usually did. This you is a bit of a health freak, by the way.

You hummed the tune to Bohemian Rhapsody as you swept the freshly-cut unions from the center of the cutting board.

Mama... ooo-oo-o-oooo...

Didn't mean to make you cry...

You plucked three carrots from a bowl to the side of you, which contained a few dozen washed carrots.

If I'm not back again this time tomorrow,

Carry on... carry on,

As if nothing reall mat-

You jumped as you heard the door slam, the kitchen knife you gripped so tightly skimming the carrot and hitting the cutting board loudly, not before sending a carrot flying into the wall. Your breath caught in your throat as you stared down at the knife for a moment, then darting your eyes around to look at what had happened. Nothing. No blood. You were fine. You allowed the breath to escape and turned to look, not surprised to see Antisepticeye standing, looking off into the distance with a scowl.

"How was it?" you asked softly as he stepped into the kitchen.

Anti grumbled something inaudible as he threw his blade up into the air, letting it fall back down into his hand. He had his head turned away from you, looking down as his body contorted into various different positions. It gave his pent up anger away immediately.

You didn't want to ask again. You awkwardly cleared your throat and turned back to cutting up the carrots. You placed the rebel carrot back in line, and started cutting them into little pieces with your kitchen knife positioned vertically.

"I just started making supper," you said quietly, almost to yourself. "It should be done in an hour or two."

There was silence. You suppressed a sigh and continued on. Maybe he didn't want to talk. Or did he, and he was just having difficulty? You thought over the two possibilities as you worked faster, feeling a bit torn. It was probably safer to just stay quiet.

You winced. Safer. Were you really thinking like that?

"I saw a squirrel carrying a flower today," you said, feeling scornful of yourself. "It was so... weird." You chuckled. "It was small. Th-the flower, not the squirrel. And it was pink. It didn't look like any kind of flower from anyone's garden. Maybe he stole it from the flower shop?" You glanced over your shoulder as you giggled at the thought, watching as Anti plopped down in a stool, running his hand through his dense forest of green hair. He wasn't just frustrated, he was obviously enraged. You could see it in the way his glitched body was tearing itself apart, showing different images of him yelling and tearing at his hair. You could plainly see the cut in his neck that he hadn't let you clean.

But still, he said nothing. He didn't even look at you.

A feeling of disappointment settled in your stomach like a heavy rock. You'd thought Anti would have responded in some way by now. You hesitantly turned back to your work, swallowing your disappointment as well.

You continued to chop up vegetables, finally making amends with the silence. Oh well; it was more peaceful than usual like this.

"Have you seen Chase around town?"

Maybe it wasn't something that you wanted to talk to him about, but it was something.

"No," you replied, slowing your work for a moment as you thought back to all the people you'd seen passing by your little house while you cleaned earlier. You must have cleaned the house four times this week, but still, it gave you something to do. "Why?"

"No reason."

"Mmm," you hummed, trying to think of why he'd be looking for Chase. They hadn't spoken in years, apparently. Lately, he'd been bringing him up, saying that he saw him around a few weeks ago.

He hadn't been the same since. He was always out of the house, always roaming around, never being specific on where he was.

When he came home?

Chase, Chase, Chase. That's all he asked about anymore. That's all he thought about. And every time he came home, he was more frustrated and angry than the last

But it was okay. Anti would surely find Chase one day at the rate he was going, then, possibly, he'd be his normal self again.

Hopefully.

You sadly stared at the vegetables down on the cutting board, letting your hand fall limply against the wet surface. You closed your eyes, breathed in slowly, and exhaled quietly. It was going to be okay. It had to.

As you began to continue your work, which was very nearly done, you hadn't noticed the way the sound of glitching became quiet. Your breath wasn't as quiet as you'd thought, and had been noticed. You should've known better; he could pick up the sound of a mouse's heartbeat in a thunderstorm. Maybe, on the inside, you had wanted him to hear.

You hadn't realized you'd begun to cut faster. Your mind had gone too deep into the dark thoughts to notice. What was he doing out there? Of course, it had something to do with Chase, but... what else was going on? Was he losing interest?

What a ridiculous thought. Of course he wasn't. How was that even relevant?

Somehow, that little whisper in the back of your head muttered sourly, like a pouting child who got caught with cookie crumbs on their face.

"What's up?"

The second you felt his hands on your shoulders, you jumped, the knife sliding again, and this time it slid right into your fingers. You yelped and cursed, Anti stepping back and looking over your shoulder to see what you did.

A deep, red cut had been sliced into your index, middle and ring finger, and now it was starting to bleed. It stung like a hot hunk of iron being dragged over your skin.

"What'd you do?" Anti asked, taking you softly by the shoulders and turning you towards him. You stared at the cut, your lips parted. He took your hand and raised it up so he could see it better, turning it in the light. Your skin was turning green the more contact you had with him.

"You've got to be more careful," he said, guiding you over to the sink. You looked up at him, seeing a strange softness in his eyes that you hadn't seen for a long time. He turned the faucet's handle and put your hand under the water. You winced and growled as your little wound stung, Anti nearly snapping his head up to look at you. It wasn't often you expressed anger.

"Sorry," he murmured, and continued to clean the blood off of your skin. When the crimson had washed down the drain, he grabbed a paper towel and wrapped it around your hand.

"I didn't mean to scare ya like that," he said quietly. Then he smiled, and you almost started crying at the sight of it. "I keep forgetting how skittish you are."

You started to laugh as he patted the cut. Then, somewhere along the way, you started crying.

"W-what?" Anti said, sheer confusion on his face. "What's wrong? What'd I do?"

You just shook your head. You didn't have an excuse for yourself; you wanted to cry, so you were going to cry, dammit.

Anti obviously had no idea what to do. He just stared, wide-eyed, as you hung your head and wiped your eyes. You didn't want to look him in the eyes; surely, you'd see the look of disappointment. He was too strong to care about such things-

And, that's where you were wrong.

Anti slowly wrapped his arms around you and brought you close. You buried your head in his shoulder and muttered "Sorry..."

"Don't be," he told you softly. Anti hugged you tightly then, resting his head against yours. His hand rubbed your back comfortingly.

"How about we stay home tomorrow?" he suggested. "Y'know, maybe watch a movie, er... something?"

You smiled and nodded, sniffing. You knew he was trying to say he was sorry, but unfortunately, his pride got in the way of a full apology. Ah, well; he was trying, and that still meant something.

It meant a lot.