@m-egabonavia
Two couldn't tell if this was a bad idea. Probably, he mused, his fingers moving at a constant pace as he sat in the snow, eyes screwed shut as he waited for his stomach to stop flipping.
Funny.... he could- remember having the powers to shortcut, could recall the way it felt-
[Like smashing two pages of a book together, shortening the vast distance between two unrelated sentences, and making them kiss.]
-Yet he couldn’t recall it ever making him feel physically sick before. But then again, that hadn’t been him. He had to consciously remind himself of that, every time he started thinking along the lines of “why was this different.” Consciously separating himself.
He was not Sans. He was...Two.
[A temporary name. He hadn’t been comfortable trying to define himself with anything else. In a lot of ways, he was still Sans, still turned to look every time Papyrus called. Going with Sans “Two” wasn’t really a solution but...it was something...]
And part of him couldn’t help but wonder if it was the actual physical sensation of shortcutting that was making him feel sick, or the anxiety that was eating away inside as his subconsciousness tried to notify the rest of his head that going back to the underground was a bad idea.
“....changed my mind.” Two said. His eyes were still closed. He wished he’d brought a jacket, didn’t know why he didn’t think of it... the snow was colder than he remembered-
[Not you, remember?]
- “this was dumb. its not... i dunno why i thought i needed to do this, i don’t, it’s stupid. can we go-” home, he almost said and his voice closed off.
Bad idea, bad idea, bad idea. It wasn’t his home, he had to remember. He was an intruder, he had to remember, He wasn’t actually Sans, he hated that he remembered.
It was always his problem.
He remembered.
