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1
Prism has never been more tired. He’s been in and out of front, helping with energy, with cleaning, with soothing. Ike’s streaming had just kicked off, and with him and Prim being so tired from it, Prism had to take up the mantle. He doesn't mind, he’s the secondary caretaker, this is literally his job. But he’s still confused as to how Prim does it. How he doesn’t get tired.
“How do you do it,” Prism asks – states really – as he flings his body onto his friend’s bed. Prim sets his book aside, carefully bookmarking his page.
“Do what?” He hums, shuffling closer to sit by Prism’s head.
“All this caretaker bull,” Prism sighs, and Prim runs a hand through his bangs, snickering to himself.
“I just push through the exhaustion until I can’t anymore,” Prism’s head cracks upwards at Prim’s words, foreheads nearly becoming well acquainted.
“You get tired?!” Prim’s neck aches in sympathy at how fast Prism’s neck turns, nodding.
“Yeah? Did you think I didn’t?” Prim’s eyebrow quirks up.
“Yes! You always seem to have so much energy and,” Prism’s hands flail, trying to communicate his disbelief, “And, I dunno, I just thought you were fine!” Prim shakes his head, smiling.
“I love you, but fuck, you’re an idiot.” Prism straightens up, staring at the other.
“You…” Prism pauses, desperately trying to push past the lump in his throat, “you do?” Prim hums.
“Yeah. I thought we were over this?” Prism pushes the tears away from his eyes, swallowing down his fear.
“I love you too,” A long beat of silence passes between the two, “slash ‘r’, in case that wasn’t obvious.” Prim snorts, shoving Prism’s arm with a fist.
“You’re so dumb,” Prim says, and then they’re both laughing, and Prism’s falling into Prim, and they’re laying back on his bed.
“I love you too,” Prism turns to him.
“Slash ‘r’?”
“Yes, oh my fuck, slash ‘r’.” They smile, curling into each other, falling asleep.
2
Eki had grown rather accustomed to Ike’s way of making an entrance. That didn’t mean it didn’t scare him to the high heavens when he shoved the door to the innerworld open, ranting about some task for work or another. Ike sighed, seemingly at the end of his tirade, flopping onto the couch beside Eki. He grinned, sharp and sarcastic, taunting the other,
“Done with your hissy fit?”
Ike sighed. The room rang with silence.
“Sorry,” Eki spoke, knowing Ike wouldn’t until he apologizes, “I’m being an ass again.”
Ike shrugged, turning to face him.
“Not as bad as you usually are, so props for that.”
Eki jabbed him in the ribs, softly. Ike bated at him, smiling.
“Did someone do something?” Ike sighed at the question, closing his eyes.
“Yes. Some guy being mean again,” Eki hummed sympathetically, “I just hate being treated like my feelings aren’t important.” Eki sensed Ike’s tone shift, picking up into another tirade.
“‘Ooh, I’ll leave a hate comment!’ ‘Ooh, I’ll be rude in chat!’ ‘Ooh, I’ll complain about a trigger even when it was put in a warning!’,” Ike spoke, his voice high, “And then , if I complain, everyone’s like, ‘If you didn’t want that, you shouldn’t be online!’ It’s not that hard to be nice,” Ike huffed, falling back into the couch. He turned to the other, eyes tired. Eki opened his arms, and Ike nodded slightly, pulling himself up and over to the other. Eki’s arms fell around his host’s shoulders, rubbing up and down his spine. Ike’s face buried into the crook of his neck, the light scent of cinnamon and smoke grounding him.
“Those people don’t deserve you,” Eki breathed into his hair, “You’re so talented, and kind, and smart. Not to mention pretty, strong, calm. You’re like the sun.” Ike was silent for a long minute, choosing his words.
“Are you my moon then? The other side of my coin?” Eki blushed, though he would deny it.
“That makes it sound like we’re soulmates or something,” Eki spoke, cramming his hammering heart down. He couldn’t hope.
“Are we not?” Ike smiled against his skin.
“What about Vox?” Eki questioned, “The others?”
“We’re the sun, moon, and stars. They’re our planets.” Eki desperately tried to steal his shaking hands.
“Our worlds?” Ike hummed
“Exactly.”
“You make it sound so simple.” Eki almost wished he could have never spoken, when Ike pulled his head away to look him in the eye.
“Is it not? We’ve all talked. I don’t see the problem,” Ike’s eyes bore an unwavering hope, a hope Eki prayed was never shattered.
“... Okay. What do you want us to be,” Eki asked, heart a fearful bird in a cage. Ike didn’t speak, instead leaning in, clouding the other’s mind.
“Can I?” Eki didn’t answer. He leaned in, the space between disappearing.
Ike’s lips were soft against his, freezing briefly before leaning in, pushing back. Ike’s hands came to rest along his ribs, Eki tightening his hold around his neck. They broke away, but stayed close enough that their noses were almost touching, the air between them shared. Eki laughed softly, bumping his nose into Ike’s, leaving barely-there kisses over his face.
“I love you,” whispered Eki. Ike moved forward, catching his mouth in a chaste kiss.
“I love you too.”
3
PenMan: Hey, can we all talk later? It’s nothing bad, just important.
DeMan: yeah just let me know when
Ilikeyourfunnywordsmagicman: Ofc man!
LionKing: 👍
Inspector🚬: yeah no prob
Ike sighs, placing his phone back onto his desk. Eki huffs a laugh from where he sat in their shared consciousness. Ike turns – as best as one can when only metaphorical – to the other, his confusion plain as day across his features.
‘Just… Mysta’s nickname,’ Eki thought more than spoke, amusement and a smile translated seamlessly through thought. Ike grins.
‘It is really dumb,’ A moment of silence passes between them, thoughts racing individually.
‘It’ll be fine, Ike,’ Eki moves the body’s hand to hold Ike’s, rubbing his thumb back and forth. Ike tries to breath through the fear that clogs his throat, and nods.
Ike bounces his knee underneath the kitchen table, watching his genmates sit down, all turning to look at him. He inhales, willing his voice not to shake as he speaks.
“Have any of you heard of Dissociative Identity Disorder before?” Ike tries to relax his shoulders at the affirmative sounds around the table.
“It’s where childhood trauma splits up a person’s brain and creates different people, right?” Shu chimes in. Ike nods, the corners of his lips lifting. Vox watches him from his seat, his eyes soft. Understanding.
“Why do you ask?” Ike’s blood freezes in his veins. He steals himself, hands shaking.
“Because I have DID.”
The room rings with silence, and Ike doesn’t dare open his eyes.
“Is this Ike right now?” Shu’s voice dissolves the crushing silence in one fell swoop, and Ike peaks one eye open to look at the other.
“Yes?” Ike phrases the word like a question, asking ‘what now’ without ever having to say it.
“Okay. What can we do to better accommodate you all?” Ike can barely speak, emotion clogging his windpipe, suffocating him.
“I dunno,” Ike pauses, breathing through his sobs, “just… not be rude, I guess.”
“Can I hug you?” Luca speaks from his seat next to Ike. He barely nods before one, two, three, then four pairs of arms fling themselves around him. He’s sobbing into an arm he’s pretty sure is Shu’s, and someone who he thinks might be Vox is rubbing between his shoulder blades. A tirade of thanks and apologies pour from the novelist’s lips, comforted by four voices humming, hushing, and murmuring reassurances.
As Ike falls into bed that night, he stares up at his popcorn ceiling, smiling softly to himself. They were okay. They were going to be okay.