Bit by Bit [II AU]

Familiarity

[Welcome to Knife's Perspective]

Knife always felt like the recluse of the group. Ever since the competition, no one wanted to hang out with him, as they either feared him or hated his guts, and yet he was somehow allowed into the hotel. This always screwed with his mind, as Balloon was banned for doing much less.

He looked around the kitchen area. Paintbrush and Lightbulb sat at the table discussing some random bullshit, Salt and Pepper were gossiping amongst each other, Marshmallow and Apple were arguing (of course), and Nickel and Baseball were trying to balance books on their heads out of sheer boredom.

Usually, Knife would play video games with Pickle, but he had chosen to hang out more with Bomb recently. Knife tried paying no attention to this, but he couldn't help but feel envy towards it. He grabbed himself a bottle of Dr. Fizz and sat at the kitchen counter. Without the background noise of the others of the hotel, it would be much more lonely.

Today though, someone shared a similar loneliness. Paper. He sat at the counter next to Knife, his eyes puffed up from crying, tears staining his thin body. He turned to Knife.

"Hi..." Paper managed to let out in a mumbled and raspy tone.

Knife raised an eyebrow. "You look like you haven't slept."

"I haven't..."

"Guessing it's over OJ?"

Paper could only nod at this statement, his eyes becoming wet again. Knife let out a sigh. He didn't feel like he was the right guy for Paper to be venting to.

"I've tried talking to him so many times, but he always... shuts me down. It feels like he's a completely different person right now."

"You got that right, I mean it's almost like you when we mentioned idi-" Knife stopped himself before he could finish. "-I mean, that island, yeah."

Paper ignored that statement, resting his head in his hands. "I just don't know what to do..."

"Well what is he doing right now?"

"In his office, working."

Knife looked over at OJ's office door, immediately feeling a sharp sense of urgency.

Nah. He's never been good at talking to people. At least not in a comforting way. Just look at Paper, he's a complete mess and Knife's done nothing to cheer him up.

Maybe if I... nah, I'll just ruin it further, won't I? Knife thought to himself.

He heard the sounds of the blinders on OJ's door suddenly opening, and turned to look at him. OJ's eyes had an intense glare in them. One of complete disturbance and agitation. It caused Knife to wince back in complete shock. OJ didn't look directly at him, but even from the direction of his pupils, it felt like they stabbed into his own.

OJ quickly shut the blinds as soon as he opened them, leaving Knife confused and concerned.

"Paper, how long has he been in that office for?" he asked, trying not to sound pushy.

Paper shrugged. "I don't know, the whole day I think? I don't think he slept at all last night."

"That's all I need to know." Knife responded, throwing his empty soda can in the recycling bin, and quickly walking over to OJ's office.

It's about time someone stops being so soft with him.

Knife swiftly knocked on the door to his office.

"Come in!" OJ chimed in an unusually cheerful way. Knife shrugged it off slightly, and quickly opened the door, looking at OJ.

OJ seemed to stumble back when he noticed it was Knife. His facial expression went from one of content, to one of terror.

"OJ," Knife said. "You and I need to have a serious talk."

The two of them stood in their places for a moment, unsure of what to do next. The sound of the air conditioning gently blowing through the air of the room was the only thing filling the silence.

Knife quickly shook his head and walked into the room, shutting the door so they could talk privately. "Look, it's time to be honest with everyone. You're clearly not well right now and it's driving the others insane. And I know I'm not usually the type of person who's good at convincing people unless I'm 'threatening them', but it's about time you snap out of this nonsense."

The silence persisted once Knife was done, and OJ's face only grew with more terror.

"OJ?" He asked. "Are you even listening?"

"Who are you..."

Knife felt his mind stumble from that question. "Excuse me?"

OJ took a step back. "Who are you?"

"The fuck..? I'm Knife? You know, the guy who was in the competition with you-"

"Please don't hurt me."

Those words caused Knife's bewilderment to shoot through the roof. Why on earth is OJ acting like this? Is he actually going crazy or something?

"I- what?? Why are you saying that to me now?" Knife's voice went from a calm and neutral tone to one of frustration. "You literally let me into the hotel despite everything I've done! And now you think I'm gonna hurt you? The hell is the matter with you?!"

"Don't yell!" OJ covered his head in a panic and crouched more in a cowardly position. "I'm sorry!"

At this point, Knife knew this was going nowhere. "Fine then. Go ahead and act like a fucking baby as all your friends worry for your well being. Real mature, OJ. Reeeaaal mature."

Silence rung out between the two of them again. Knife was about to leave the room until sniffles slowly came out from OJ's mouth. Guilt washed over him.

Why Did I say that... god, why am I such an asshole... the thought plagued through Knife's mind. He quickly but carefully walked over to OJ, wanting to make things right after lashing out like that.

"Look, I..." Knife struggled to find the words. "Sorry about... that. It's just that.. everyone's getting pretty worried about your well being. And I figured since being soft and gentle wasn't working, maybe being more stern would help. I mean it clearly didn't, but you know..."

OJ met eyes with Knife as tears slowly dripped down his glass body.

Knife continued. "I genuinely mean it when I say sorry. Is there... anything I can do for you at all? Like.. around the hotel? I mean I'm not good at filing taxes-"

His words were interrupted by a sudden embrace from OJ. His arms wrapping around him tight as he cried into Knife's shoulder.

"HMM- OKAY- I.. GUESS THIS WORKS.." Despite the discomfort, Knife let the hug happen, patting OJ on the back awkwardly as he felt warm drops of water hit his back.

Eventually, OJ stopped the hug and looked at Knife, a look that felt... different. One of a more childish nature.

"Sorry..." OJ mumbled.

"It's... okay. But uh.. you were joking when you said 'who are you', right?"

He didn't respond, only looking up at him in shock, the childish gleam fading.

"... OJ?"

"Please leave. I'm sorry, Knife, but... please leave." OJ sat back down at his desk and quickly went back to work.

Knife wanted to protest this, but chose not to. He already felt like he caused enough damage today. He opened the door and left without saying another word.