#six am

[dostoyevsky-official]

maybe going into the snow at five am will do something

[blackinklamb]

Cloudy Weather

It is six am. My room is bathed in soft blue light, And the rain picks up and beats itself against my rooftop. The silence between the drops feels louder than the storm but not louder than my thoughts.. Because when it’s six am, and raining, I pick up the dreams of the future that I’ve tucked away in some old shoebox at the back of my mind and play them against the lids of my eyes until I’m picturing wraparound porches with our dog nestled comfortably beneath the bench we sit on.. And blankets draped over shoulders and coffee still hot enough to burn our tongues. And I’m imagining large open windows mirroring large open fields and the wind blowing just enough to let the smell of damp earth and gardenias float down from the hills into the livingroom where it settles and soaks into our furniture. Because in my dreams, our faces are aged, but our love is still young.. and our hearts are still full, and our hands are still perfect fitting pieces of the same puzzle we’ve been building for last thirty years. And the sky is a soft blue. And it’s six am. And it’s raining.

[daily-cam]

304 days without you

[artbyemkivch]

Six AM Beach Walk

Sat, Sept 12, 2020

[oatsnmelk]

[suchamazingness]

Here, have a thing I started weeks ago and finished at six a.m.

It started back in high school, when Sci first learned the names behind covalent compounds, nightmarish names like Tetralithium Hexafluoride that haunted his poor classmates. He didn't recognize the name for water- Dihydrogen Monoxide -until his teacher had pointed it out. It just seemed so... unnecessarily complicated. Immediately he knew that whoever used them was trying too hard to sound smart. After class, he nearly forgot it and knew that no one else would remember either.

And so it began.

That weekend, he went with his dad, the Royal Scientist, to a nice, casual restaurant in Hotland.

When the waiter asked him what drink he wanted, he promptly answered "I'd like some Dihydrogen Monoxide please".

The waiter's confused look nearly made him break character, but he held fast, managing to hold in a goofy grin until the waiter walked off, still looking perplexed. His dad chuckled quietly.

The years passed. It became a sort of running joke between them. The servers and staff chose not to question the two, eventually three skeletons. Soon, they simply shook their heads and gave an indulgent smile. They still brought the wrong drink.

Some years later, Sci graduated college and became an intern at his dad's lab. He quickly climbed his way to becoming his assistant, only a year before his father fell into his creation (safety rules, Dad. This may not be a classroom, but safety rules and regulations exist for a reason), allowing his friend Alphys to take his father's position as Royal Scientist.

Soon, under some slow, gentle work conducted over the course of many, many years, Sci managed to rip a hole in the universe, leading out into another. Of course, this was done gingerly and with much diligence in the way of notes and documentation.

This world seemed...hectic. Dust littered the once pure snow, blood was splattered against the trunks of trees, old and new. Sci swallowed and quickly jotted down notes before shutting the portal down as swiftly as he could without significant risk.

In a few years, Alphys' research spawned a robot named Mettaton.

After about three years of Mettaton being a entertainment robot, they reached the Surface, all thanks to Alphys' research. It seems others had conducted the same experiment Sci had, because there were already many, many monsters on the Surface, most from other worlds.

Which brings us to the present day.

Sci sighed and pushed open the glass door to a small cafe. Today had been rough. It was cold, work was draining, and he was hungry. His lunch break seemed to loom ever on the horizon, yet never seemed to get closer. He slid into a booth and crossed his arms to lay his head down.

"Excuse me, sir?" a rumbling voice sounded from above. He glanced up to see a skeleton monster that was likely from one of the other universes, judging by his sharp fangs and claws.

"What can I get you to drink, sir?

He sighed. He wasn't even in the mood for tea today.

"Dihydrogen Monoxide, please." The words slipped out without any real thought, as he and Papyrus still used the joke around the house. He looked to see a look of momentary confusion flicker over the servers face before being replaced by recognition, then irritation and faint amusement.

"Alright, I'll be back in a bit with your drink and to take your order."

"Thank you," he mumbled softly.

The server - Fell, his tag read in a dull black font - walked right out a few moments later - with a glass of water.

Sci grinned impishly. Fell huffed again, rolling his sharp white pupils around in the sockets.

"Did you seriously expect to get away with that little joke?" he growled, giving him a mock snarl.

Sci flushed sheepishly.

"It's always worked before," he mumbled.

Fell sighed good-naturedly.

The cafe became Sci's new favorite eatery. And if he was a bit more chatty with a certain waiter, well, that was neither here nor there.

When Sci received the bill, there was a number written in tiny chicken-scratch in the very bottom corner.

He smiled.

Sci and Fell bonded quite easily. On Fell's days off, they would go to lunch together. The staff seemed a bit more cheerful, but less conversational. Once or twice, they would catch the cashier staring at them from the counter, but they never did anything but occasionally squeal and whisper to each other conspiratorially. Sci didn't say anything, so Fell left it alone, but the scientist could tell it grated on him.

Sci was nearly crying with laughter while Fell told a story as they waited for a waiter.

"Sirs, do you know what you'd like to drink?"

The duo's eyes met. Sci smirked.

"Dihydrogen Monoxide, if you would."

"Sweet tea, please, miss."

The waitress stared at Sci in silence, before she gave them an awkward giggle. She turned around and walked into the kitchen.

The pair shared a round of snickers at the poor waitress's expense, then Fell continued his tale.

When the waitress returned, she brought Fell's sweet tea (which Sci side-eyed in disgust,) and a cup of unsweet tea for him. Sci smiled, genuinely amused. It never failed.

When he received the bill, there was a number scribbled along the bottom.

He called after work.

"National suicide hotline, how can I help you?"

Sci just sat there awkwardly for an awkwardly long time.

"Uh, yeah, um, sorry to bother you, bye." He hung up.

Well, at least he'd have a story for Fell.

---~~~---

Fell wiped red tears from his socket, wheezing with laughter.

"So I just sat there awkwardly for a little bit and then hung up." He giggled. Getting Fell to laugh wasn't hard, but it was rewarding all the same. He got this little patch of red on his cheeks, his eyes scrunched shut, and he giggled and snorted with real, honest amusement. Sci smiled and distantly heard the cashier sigh happily. A waitress squealed under her breath. A waiter smirked. Another customer looked their way and said, rather loudly, "JUST FUCK ALREADY."

Everyone fell dead silent. The two skeletons flushed their respective colors, and Fell was halfway out of his chair before Sci pushed him back down. He'd never felt so embarrassed. He glared at the man, but he didn't seem to notice. The staff just stared.

They left a few minutes later, awkwardly shuffling out the door, Fell still muttering expletives about the customer. Sci said nothing, simply staring blankly ahead. It wasn't that he would *mind* doing something like that with Fell-

Wait. Waaaiiiit. Nope. No no no fuck that shit no-

Fell grabbed the back of his shirt and tugged him backwards, effectively snapping him back into reality to see that he'd nearly walked into traffic. Sci could barely breathe, his soul was beating too fast and too loud, his entire body was too warm, and Fell was just a little too close.

Not that he was complaining though.

"Watch it," he muttered softly, "there's cars, dipshit." Sci huffed, pretending that he hadn't been having sinful thoughts about his best friend, who was still holding him against his chest protectively.

"Thanks," he whispered.

He was fucked.

[walking-geema]

[leopardleopardleopard]

My only friend at six am and a few from yesterday.