WARNINGS: Obsessive love, mentions of personalized torture, unhealthy relationship, attempted suicide, and slight existentialism.

________________________________

Does my pen only write bitter words for those who are dear to me?

Every day was absolute heaven for Cross. He slept at the foot of Dust's bed, and he honestly was fine with it. He was close to Dust, and that was what mattered to him. Cross would often have dreams involving Dust, and more often than not, the dreams would take a dive into the more... Citrusy pool. And whenever they were awake, Cross was stuck to him like a pesky piece of sticky paper. If, instead of a light layer of glue, one used a thick layer of super glue. And when they weren't together, Cross would constantly annoy the others about his exact whereabouts and when he would be back, down to the millisecond. Of course, this would annoy the crew, and Cross would be shut up by Horror's ax, Mercury. Then, once Dust got back, the whole cycle would restart.

Is it love if I take you, or is it love if I set you free?

Cross knew it, and he wasn't ashamed to admit it in the slightest. He was absolutely, completely and utterly obsessed with Dust. Anything and everything Dust said was cherished by Cross. Anything Dust touched that belonged to Cross was immediately worshipped, quite literally. Dust returning Cross's affections? Well, that was enough to make the monochrome manipulator pass out. More than once had Cross thought about... Taking Dust for himself. He was almost fed up with the world-bearing weight of jealousy he felt whenever he saw Dust interacting with another. Cross could feel himself slipping each and every time Dust spoke a word that wasn't directed at Cross. Every time Dust looked or smiled at another. Everytime Dust touched another. Cross's only anchor to sanity was that Dust would be upset if something... Or someone... Happened to his friends. But that anchor was slowly and surely... Eroding.

The ink flows down into a dark puddle.

Thoughts, emotions, actions, words. All of them meaningless meanings with means of meaning. An action cannot be an action without thought. A thought cannot be a thought without words. Words cannot be their true definition of a word without emotion. And emotions are nothing without action. All of these are nothing without another. Without the other, they simply exist as concepts of the mind, with nothing to act on. Like ink, with no quill to carry it. Without a quill to carry ink and create words of complex emotions, actions, and thoughts, all one gets is a black puddle of ink. A black puddle of ink is useless. Cross views himself as such. He isn't moving, or doing anything, really. He needs... A plan. Something memorable. Something to win Dust over... Something... Something that would show his love... And devotion... And obsession.

How can I write love into reality?

Cross's thoughts continued spiraling downward into the dark, toxic abyss that was obsessive love. Thoughts of Dust looking at him were slowly being replaced with thoughts of their teammates disappearing by his own hand. Thoughts of holding Error down, and simply touching him as he screamed and glitched; rebooting and crashing, all while screaming that it hurt, that it burned. Thoughts of starving Horror once more. Thoughts of bringing Killer back. Thoughts of forcing Nightmare into that adorably weak form, stripping him of his magic, and then throwing him into a FellLust... All of them equally sadistic, and all of them with Dust as the last one to conquer. These were but thoughts, only thoughts, mere constructions of the mind... But oh, how badly Cross wished them true.

If I can't hear the sound of your heartbeat...

Cross was resigned. He knew, deep down, that he would never be able to carry out such plans. No matter what he wanted from Dust, no matter how badly he craved him, he would never get it. That bothered Cross, but, what could he even really do about it? He was far to weak to actually put his thoughts into action, and he was-now-too shy to talk to Dust without prompt. He was stuck. Oh-so weak, and helplessly in love with Dust. If he wanted change, he would have to create it. He would have to gather up his will, and... Talk to Dust.

What do you call love in your reality?

Cross talked to Dust about their relationship. He was quite scared to, but Dust complied without much prompting. And, well, Cross was pleased to find out that Dust loved him, and was actually willing to spend the rest of the day with Cross! Just as long as Cross controlled himself. Cross was overjoyed! He did it! Dust loved him! And Dust was the one to suggest an outing for once! Cross wasn't sure if he could possibly be happier. Now that he confessed how he felt about their relationship, Cross felt so much better. Now everything was perfect, and nothing could ever ruin it for Cross.

And in your reality, if I don't know how to love you...

After their outing, the gang invited Dust to play games with them and drink. Dust, after telling Cross to go to bed, accepted, and the gang and Dust talked. However, Cross listened to them through Dust's bedroom door instead of going to bed. He heard the gang talking about random things, but then the subject shifted to Dust and Cross's relationship. One of the voices-Cross couldn't tell which-asked Dust how he felt about Cross. Dust replied with a simple, curt "Hate him." And then nothing else was said about the matter. Cross went to bed. And dreamed of nothing for the first time in his life.

I'll leave you be.

Cross had been planning this for a while-ever since he found out about how Dust truly felt about him. Why did Dust even bother pretending? Is Cross really that emotionally unstable that Dust couldn't tell him? Or perhaps this was to hurt Cross... He wasn't really sure. But in the moment, he honestly didn't care.

The muffled screams of his teammates fell deaf upon Cross, and the not-as muffled sounds of them banging on the door barely registered to Cross. Why try so hard to get in? Why? It was obviously so that they could lie, and such.

Now that Cross thought about it, perhaps this was his due karma. He manipulated Killer, Chara, and everyone else who ever had the horrible luck of meeting him. He honestly deserved this, really. This was certainly not going to fix everything, but it was a large enough stepping stone.

He was going to change it all.

Right here.

Right now.

It was all there.

The gun glinted with a friendly shine, the kind of shine he saw in Dust's eyes. It gave him a sense of safety.

He raised the gun to his head.

And pulled the trigger.

...

*click*

_______________________

Oooooo, whaaooo, what an ending! Before anyone asks, no, this is NOT the final part! There is one more after this, then the mini series will end!

Anyways, thanks for reading!

Bery~