A small birthday ficlet for @kwatanghulu , based on their story The Art of Tagging in the Rain (love love love it, hiiighly recommended)
Have a good oneee ♥
The door was locked.
It had been a long time since he'd locked the door to the basement. Days for sure, weeks probably… Months? You didn't know, and you were fairly certain that he wouldn't tell, even if one day you managed to work up the courage to ask him.
The familiar room held you hostage once again, the sight of the walls closing in reminding you of a warm blanket trapping your body immobile, yet remaining soft and comfortable, almost deliberately so. Imprisoned, isolated, alone. Safe, kept, wanted.
You called out to him.
"Dust?"
It took a few more attempts, the sound of his name varying in tone, before an uninterested "what" sounded from behind you. Turning around, you momentarily met his eyelights that were staring back at you from under his hood, unblinking and observant, making a familiar sense of comfort wash over you.
You said nothing. You didn't need to know the reasons why he decided to lock the door on you today. You weren't planning on asking him what day it was, or how long you'd been here. He had responded to your call, he still remembered you, he still cared. He would catch you if you tried to run away. That was all that mattered.
So you merely smiled at him.
After he'd grown tired of waiting for a reason for summoning him (or satisfied with the lack of one), he disappeared wordlessly, as unnaturally quickly as he'd arrived. Briefly, you considered today's main event done, before a faint smell of burnt sugar lingering where he'd stood a few second ago caught your attention.
Burnt… Sugar?
Your gaze turned back to the door, still locked.
Oh.
He was hiding something from you. Keeping a secret. How intriguing.
Curiously, you pressed your ear against the door.
You heard nothing for three minutes.
…
Your patience rewarded you, as eventually there was the distant sound of glass hitting the floor and shattering into pieces, followed by some muffled curses. It was proof that he was still around, busy doing who know what. Murder? Cooking? Escape-proofing the entire house again?
You continued listening, leaning your back against the door and sliding down to sit on the ground, keeping track of his absence by counting the seconds. One minute was spent listening to the hum of a microwave, another two in silence.
You more felt than heard the knock on the door, the wood resonating the rhythm against your back.
"Who's there?"
You didn't bother standing up, you merely kept your gaze locked to where you assumed he'd appear again, severely doubting his ability to operate a doorknob like a normal person. The smell of something that might've once been sweet but had turned to bitter and charred wafted its way into the room, and now that you focused on it, there was even the slightest amount of smoke coming from the small gap under the door.
"…happy birthday."
Huh. This one you hadn't heard before.
"Happy birthday who?"
There was a sigh from the other side of the door, and you could almost picture the dramatic roll of eyelights to accompy the sound. After a few seconds, the smoke-smelling hooded skeleton teleported in, dropping a pint of your favourite ice cream into your lap, as well as a cup of… Well, to call it a sad attempt of a cake or even a cupcake would be insulting to said treats. Burnt soggy flour hidden under a pile of sprinkles would probably be a more accurate description.
Dust vanished again, and you were left staring at a single lit candle sticking out from the cup. You blew out the flame - a few seconds too late, as the wax had already reached the ashy-grey batter, somehow managing to make the whole thing look even less edible.
Oh well, at least you had the ice cream. He'd forgotten to bring a spoon though, so you would have to call him back in a minute.
Maybe two minutes.
You took a deep breath.
You now knew exactly what day it was, as well as how long he'd been keeping you captive. It was a lot longer than you'd estimated - so long that it should've at the very least made you hate him for doing this to you.
But somehow, all you could think of was that you should definitely teach him how to properly bake a cake sometime. Maybe bribe him to wear a cute apron and sing a birthday song while at it.
You would have exactly one year to figure out how to get there.
