headlining | FUTUROLOGY IC INBOX

[It's scary, really, because now it feels like he's stepping into a world unfamiliar and strange. He's played the Pinocchio all his life, desperately trying to prove that he's a real boy by believing the skin on his body isn't wood. Now, he can't keep going on with that delusion. The whole thing has been shattered.]

[He's not human. There's no denying that now.]

[Keats is still wiping away tears, feeling pathetic over the fact that he even is crying a bit in the first place, when he suddenly feels Mettaton move to press up against his forehead. He freezes, eyes staring into the warm, rosy light.]

[The heart is warm to the touch. But the words that come from it are far warmer.]

Is that so? [Yes, yes, he is all those things. He's a fake, by all means, but all those traits he's developed on his own. Herve may have laid the groundwork, the foundation, but everything else is him. It belongs to him and him only. Mettaton sees him as a person, why can't he do the same for himself?]

[I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul, he recalls from an old poem he read, once upon a time. The past is not what he thought it was, but he can't think of that. He has to move forward.]

[Mettaton moves back, and Keats lets out a laugh, his tone incredibly fond:]

Ah, and you're an idiot who's simply being too nice for his own good. Who are you and what have you done with Mettaton...?

[He wipes off his eyes one last time with the back of his sleeve, staring at Mettaton's heart - god, is he beautiful no matter what he looks like, how is that possible? - and leans on the table with a smile that is somewhat coy.]

I do have lips at the current moment, so...how about I do us both the favor?

wha- no, hang on a second! go back!!

[He's flittering around the other's head now, like some sort of shiny, irritated butterfly, spinning to and fro in the air as he "rants". He's joking. It's obvious he's just joking. It's to clear the mood, to make Keats laugh again. Mettaton doesn't care what he is. He's still handsome and thoroughly impossible to deal with at any given moment. He still likes Mettaton despite the robot's many, many denied flaws, despite how many times Mettaton's tried to chase him away.

He really does deserve that "putting up with Mettaton" award.]

i am always nice! i have a reining supremacy in the sunshine championships. you fell into my dark prison of passion entirely due to my innate kindness and amazing butt - you don't get to play the "oh, hohoho, who are you and what did you do with mettaton" card, buff nerd.

[He stills, finally, the light pouring from him pulsing brighter. He twist slightly in the air, as if shyly shifting his weight from foot to foot.]

but... i mean...

[He draws closer.]

if you're offering... since you're so nice and all...

Edited (SHUT UP I CAN'T TYPE) 2017-04-20 03:21 (UTC)

Your dark prison of passion? [He lets out a particularly undignified snort.] Oh, goodness, please never say those words again. Ever.

[God, how can he take Mettaton seriously, saying things like that? In a way...he enjoys that. Sometimes it's nice to be all serious and logical and uncaring about everything else. But just to laugh and smile like this...it makes him feel warm. He always wants to feel warm, now. To feel like this...]

[He leans his chin on his hand, gesturing for Mettaton to come closer with his other hand.]

Come on now. Once in a lifetime opportunity here. Come here.

[He's going to say them again, especially if that's the reaction they get. There's no smile - he can't, not as a floating heart - but the light coming from his core grows even brighter as Keats laughs. Beams of white light shine through the vents, tinting the air with a soft halo.

Idiots. They're both such idiots.

He hovers closer as he's beckoned.]

don't make me throw up.

[Charming.

He presses himself against the other's lips. It's... warm. More than anything has the right to be. It... He can't kiss back, only able to offer another burst of static in return, but even being able to feel it in the first place is like a revelation. This is what all those songs are about. This is why every kiss ends in fireworks and the chorus always swells. This is why Audrey runs off with Seymour and how Robert breaks Giselle's curse.

...how sappy. This is the worst.

...

He might be losing control of himself and starting to slowly sink to the floor.]

[This is, admittedly, strange, but it isn't as if he's kissed Mettaton when the other can't kiss him back. Mettaton's heart is very warm, this time, and it seems Mettaton can actually feel the kiss. There's a tingle on his lips at the static, and even though Keats is not as likely to go into vivid romantic dreams just from this, he has to admit that, well, it's nice. This is nice.]

[And then he realizes Mettaton is sinking down.]

Hey, where do you think you're going? [He's going to move a hand to try to catch Mettaton before he reaches the floor.] I don't think you'll find anything down there.

[Wait, what's going on, was he falling? Is there-- oh, there's a hand. There's words.]

no, you're right. i shouldn't try to get on your level, [is the dreamy, yet instantly biting response. It's reflexive, he can't help it. Mettaton lets himself fall into Keats' hand, blearily staring into the middle distance with... however, he manages to see without eyes. His core pulses with a warm, calm light, as if breathing. This is nice. He never really thought this would happen.

Give him a minute. He's... having feelings.

This is new. Someone kissed him. Someone's holding him. They aren't scared or betrayed or leaving. They understand each other.]

...i wish i could kiss you...

No, actually, I changed my mind. Keep going further down, maybe you'll find where you belong.

[Keats is only more than happy to come up with a sharp comeback instantly. Still, he doesn't follow his words and doesn't let Mettaton go, only moving his hand back up carefully to bring back Mettaton's heart to eye level.]

[It's very calming, to see that heart, so incredibly alive despite the fact it's being inhabited by a ghost.]

Ah, if horses were wishes, beggars would ride... [He sighs and shakes his head, as if to say "ah, well, what can you do".] I'm sure we'll figure out a way around it. No doubt.

[Mettaton knows that was meant to be comforting, but bitterness swirls inside of him anyway. It's not fair. It's not fair to work for your dreams for so long and still be left incomplete. Keats should be holding him, the beautiful, long-legged star, not just... a heart. They should have been kissing or touching hands or anything months ago.

This is nice and it's incredible to not be rejected, but...]

i know...

ha. i guess i'm just...

[Sigh.]

sorry.

you can let me go now, cupcake. i can get back to my body on my own.

Edited 2017-04-30 03:47 (UTC)

FUTUROLOGY IC INBOX

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