Room 43// An Inanimate Insanity College AU

26- Cold Day, Cold Night

Lightbulb wasn't talking to them.

Paintbrush was fine with that, really! They themselves went through periods of time where they didn't speak to anyone, holed up in their room for a few days working on a project or anything similar. It was a thing that artists did.

Only problem was, this was Lightbulb, not them. She had never done this before, always eager to show off her newest work and constantly reminding herself to take breaks in a way Paintbrush had never mastered the art of. (No pun intended, of course.)

There were a few times where they'd attempted to speak to her, strike up a conversation, and although she didn't outright ignore them, her responses were curt and sharp before she left and holed up in her room once again. It was weird, because she was talkative and Paintbrush knew this, possibly better than anyone.

Was it the trip? They wondered, lying on their bed, eyes closed, with the sunlight streaming through the window. It had never felt so dark. Had they been acting weird?

Had Lightbulb figured it out, and didn't want to talk to them?

That certainly wasn't the case. Why wasn't she talking to anyone else if it was just them?

But what if...

Their worries got the best of them, and they opened their eyes with a crease in their forehead and a furrowed brow. They hadn't slept, and opening their eyes was as difficult as closing them. The sun was bright and ready to greet them, blasting their vision with unwelcome light.

Even though it was the middle of the afternoon, this knowledge acquired courtesy of the LED clock installed beside their bed, they felt in the dark.

All around, they felt panicky. They grabbed their phone, fingers shaking, and dropped it into their lap several times. The dull thud of the metallic object hitting the blanketed bed was not comforting.

Their finger hovered over Lightbulb's contact, their last text being from a few days ago when they asked if Lightbulb was up to joining them all in watching a sci-fi movie Fan rented.

Fan had returned the movie yesterday, and Lightbulb had never even read the message. The little Delivered icon taunted them.

Somewhere, they felt angry; what was with the sudden change? Why wouldn't she just talk to them, if something was wrong? She knew that they'd help her... didn't she?

...Paintbrush just wanted their friend back.

They wanted to see her around again, more than they were, which was a concerningly small amount. Although something was clearly bothering her, and there was nothing Paintbrush could do about it if Lightbulb didn't let them close enough.

Their finger was still hovering over her contact, a picture Lightbulb had taken with their phone just for the occasion several months ago. A peace sign thrown up with one hand, the other off the edge of the icon holding the phone up.

They went to Marshmallow's contact, fingers still trembling and skin still burning from the icy non-heat the sun provided. It was still winter. No wonder they felt cold.

Paintbrush: cna i come overt

Autocorrect had taken the wheel for most of the message, because they could barely type out the simplest of words. They would laugh if their chest didn't feel so tight.

They remember a time where Marshmallow had avoided them, renting out an apartment on the edge of town and ever so fondly naming it Purgatory. She spent her days living with Apple and Bow paycheck to paycheck and working miserable hours as a Walmart cashier on the night shift, her beloved store's innerworkings much harder to navigate than the usual walkways.