Art Dump thingy?

Swap turns and tosses in bed. He groans, unable to sleep, unable to get comfortable.

Finally, he gets up, tossing the covers off. He leaves his room, planning on having some tea before trying to get some real sleep again.

The hall is as dark as ever. It fills him with a cold, nervous feeling. Nightmare’s presence can be felt through the walls, the floor, even the air. It’s thick, and potent. He coughs, choking—maybe it’s just dust, actually. Swap ought to sweep later. He really has been slacking off on his household duties as of late.

The kitchen light is already on when Swap arrives in the threshold. He isn’t too surprised. Dust is rather the night-owl. However, when he steps in, it is not Dust he sees, but—

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TWO DOING?!?” Swap screams in shock, a hand to his SOUL. It thunders in his chest.

Cross jumps away from the counter—from Killer, who’s sat upon the edge of it. He whips around, already sweating, teeth grit.

”S- Swap! This isn’t— we weren’t—“ Cross stammers, but Killer cuts him off, tugging the guardsman back into the space between his knees by his hood.

”naw, it’s exactly what it looks like,” Killer says, grinning.

Swap nearly gags—no, he does gag. His hands come to cover his mouth as he retches involuntarily. “OH MY GOD.”

”Swap, please,” Cross sighs, rubbing at his face. “Don’t make a big deal about—“

”YOU’RE FUCKING GAY!” Swap interrupts with a shout, “AND— OH MY GOD!!! WE EAT IN HERE!!! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!!!!!!”

Cross jumps at the volume, cringing. His face is glowing brightly with embarrassment. Killer seems merely amused by the whole thing. Swap gags again.

”what, are’ya homophobic or something, blue?” Killer huffs.

”I’M NOT ANYTHING ‘-PHOBIC’ EXCEPT FOR ‘WHATEVER IS WRONG WITH YOU -PHOBIC’!!!”

Swap turns on his heel and storms out of the kitchen, forgetting about his tea. He’s too worked up now to think about sleeping or even drinking anymore—or, well, maybe…

He finds Dust’s room and pounds on the door, uncaring about the hour at this point. It swings open after three knocks, and he’s greeted by a very pissed looking Dust.

”the fuck d’you want?” he gripes, holding the door.

”LIQUOR.”

”… uh. yeah, okay,” Dust says, and after a momentary retreat he returns to the door and hands over a half-full bottle of whiskey. Swap takes it silently, nodding. The two of them have a clear mental understanding in the moment, and so Dust does not ask what’s happened, and merely closes the door.

Swap drinks himself to sleep. He’s going to fucking kill them if he ever sees something like that again. In the fucking kitchen. Ugh.

He adds ‘deep-clean the kitchen’ to his mental list of chores.

////

Swap turns and tosses in bed. He groans, unable to sleep, unable to get comfortable.

Finally, he gets up, tossing the covers off. He leaves his room, planning on having some tea before trying to get some real sleep again.

The hall is as dark as ever. It fills him with a cold, nervous feeling. Nightmare’s presence can be felt through the walls, the floor, even the air. It’s thick, and potent. He coughs, choking—maybe it’s just dust, actually. Swap ought to sweep later. He really has been slacking off on his household duties as of late.

The kitchen light is already on when Swap arrives in the threshold. He isn’t too surprised. Dust is rather the night-owl. However, when he steps in, it is not Dust he sees, but—

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TWO DOING?!?” Swap screams in shock, a hand to his SOUL. It thunders in his chest.

Cross jumps away from the counter—from Killer, who’s sat upon the edge of it. He whips around, already sweating, teeth grit.

”S- Swap! This isn’t— we weren’t—“ Cross stammers, but Killer cuts him off, tugging the guardsman back into the space between his knees by his hood.

”naw, it’s exactly what it looks like,” Killer says, grinning.

Swap nearly gags—no, he does gag. His hands come to cover his mouth as he retches involuntarily. “OH MY GOD.”

”Swap, please,” Cross sighs, rubbing at his face. “Don’t make a big deal about—“

”YOU’RE FUCKING GAY!” Swap interrupts with a shout, “AND— OH MY GOD!!! WE EAT IN HERE!!! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!!!!!!”

Cross jumps at the volume, cringing. His face is glowing brightly with embarrassment. Killer seems merely amused by the whole thing. Swap gags again.

”what, are’ya homophobic or something, blue?” Killer huffs.

”I’M NOT ANYTHING ‘-PHOBIC’ EXCEPT FOR ‘WHATEVER IS WRONG WITH YOU -PHOBIC’!!!”

Swap turns on his heel and storms out of the kitchen, forgetting about his tea. He’s too worked up now to think about sleeping or even drinking anymore—or, well, maybe…

He finds Dust’s room and pounds on the door, uncaring about the hour at this point. It swings open after three knocks, and he’s greeted by a very pissed looking Dust.

”the fuck d’you want?” he gripes, holding the door.

”LIQUOR.”

”… uh. yeah, okay,” Dust says, and after a momentary retreat he returns to the door and hands over a half-full bottle of whiskey. Swap takes it silently, nodding. The two of them have a clear mental understanding in the moment, and so Dust does not ask what’s happened, and merely closes the door.

Swap drinks himself to sleep. He’s going to fucking kill them if he ever sees something like that again. In the fucking kitchen. Ugh.

He adds ‘deep-clean the kitchen’ to his mental list of chores.

////