unfinished symphony (jschlatt x dsmp!reader)

chapter six: the sinner

The search goes on long into the night, long after you have finally laced up your boots and joined the patrols yourself, pushing down all those inconvenient feelings once again for the sake of your country.

Wilbur is still at large, despite your best efforts, lost somewhere to the forgotten tunnels under Manburg. Your beloved symphony's composer shambling between her measures, searching for how to best tear her open from the inside out. Tubbo is gone without a trace, his final words to you that tearful "you don't mean that" from beyond the archery range fence.

You return to your room, your blood now wiped from the floor as the bright light of morning streams in through the window. Something glitters on your nightstand, and you stare at it, unbelieving, for what feels like an eternity. A golden guitar pick. You hold it in your palm, feeling its weight, avoiding yet another urge to burst into tears. You throw it across the room as hard as you can, not caring what it hits. Your mirror shatters, falling to the ground in slivers of broken glass.

"Fuck you," you mutter under your breath like a mantra as you turn and flee back into the sprawling Hall. "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you." Two left corridors and a staircase later, you're standing in the Presidential Office. It's sole occupant doesn't turn to face you, instead finding much more value in the wood grain of the desk than your presence. You swipe a whiskey bottle off the desk and it crashes to the floor, startling Schlatt even more as you grab him by his horns and force him to look up at you.

"Hey, doll," he smiles, words slurring together. He's fucking drunk.

"You don't get to do this, Schlatt," you tell him. He doesn't even attempt to shake your hands off of him, seeming content to be held up even as your knuckles turn white from the force you're gripping his horns with.

"I'm a grown man, I can do whatever I want." He finally sits up, gently dislodging your grip. "Take your L'manburg. Finish your symphony." The implication is clear, has been since you first saw that accursed pick on your nightstand. Now you're even. Now he can go. He looks at you again, true intentions unmasked by the alcohol, and...

He looks at you as if you're the sun. Like something beautiful and annihilating. You know in that moment that you've ruined him. You, L'manburg, your own wretched pride. One and the same. You've ruined him, and he has ruined you.

It's not until the first tear rolls down your cheek that you realize you're crying. You don't like to cry. It makes you feel weak, though you know it shouldn't.

"You're going to do a fantastic job, Madame President," he says, looking at you, still looking at you, always.

"Not without you." He opens his mouth to speak and you cut him off. "You don't get to do this to me, Schlatt. You don't get to abandon me like everyone else." His expression shifts then, as he finally understands the underpinning of your love for Manburg. You loved L'manburg, at first, because it was Wilbur's. But you loved Manburg because it was yours.

"Every other person I have EVER loved has left me!" You start to scream at him. You can't help it. "My friends, my comrades! People I considered as good as FAMILY, Schlatt. And they all left me. They left me here, with a dead man's legacy, to rot!"

"Wilbur's not dead," he finally answers after a beat of silence.

"He's dead in every way that matters," you respond. He says nothing as you slump into the chair across from him, wiping the tears from your cheeks. "So what now? You pack up and go? Big Q and I switch roles?" Even in silence, he's getting the last word, so you lash out, say something you know will hurt. "You get to take the cowards way out."

His eyes shimmer, hardening like steel as he fixes you with that oh-so-presidential glare.

"I may be a lot of things, but a coward isn't one of them."