Yandere Flug (Paperhat Fanfiction)

Such a Feeling's Coming Over Me

Four years. Four whole years he'd been working here, and never once had he felt this way. Flug struggled to keep his focus. Why was this happening to him? What had he done to deserve this? A week ago, he had been locked in a broom closet, which wouldn't have been so bad (aside from the crushing claustrophobia), but somehow, he'd managed to trap his boss in there with him. Oh, what he would have done to be locked in there with 5.0.5, or even Dementia. Anyone but the already crabby demon lord.

It was a small closet, not small enough that they couldn't move around, but small enough that they were pressed close together. Even if Black Hat weren't already in a sour mood, this would be quite the predicament. However, the events leading up to their situation- Flug not being competent enough to find a single chemical in his mess of a closet -had Black Hat's patience bubbling, and if looks could kill, Flug would have melted.

The biggest problem was that Black Hat's arms were cramped at his sides, making it impossible for him to break the door down. They were stuck until they managed to get Dementia or 5.0.5's attention, or until Black Hat snapped and murdered Flug.

Flug wasn't too pleased either; he was downright terrified. Black Hat made his thoughts clear as he pressed himself as far away from Flug as he could (which wasn't much, about an inch). Any contact would earn a hiss and a nasty glare.

Flug was more disturbed, however, by himself. He felt hot and weak, and watched as he kept "accidentally" brushing up against Black Hat's leg. His face flushed a vibrant red when he met Black Hat's eyes.

Of course this type of thing had happened before, but Flug had mistaken it for white hot fear. This was not fear.

When Dementia finally found them and let them out, Flug soon experienced something else. Dementia had hugged Black Hat, and it sent a stab of anger. He almost ripped her off of him, consequences be damned. The thought had gone as fast as it had come, leaving Flug concerned for his own mental health.

What was he thinking? Dementia had done things like this all the time before and sure, it had been a bit annoying, maybe even a tinge disgusting, but when did it start to truly upset him? He quickly ran to his work, trying to keep from revealing this newfound "thing".

---

These feelings had been going on for a week, and Flug had learned how to sort of ignore them. He would pretend he was sick, and he would tell everyone just that. He'd been 'sick' a lot lately.

Well, I AM sick in the HEAD Flug thought to himself. He thought about Black Hat again. How elegant he was. How confident. How gorgeous. He snapped himself out of it.

Stop it he scolded his brain. However, his mind wouldn't move away from the subject. Flug let his head fall to the table, letting out a groan of frustration. What was with this "obsession" (he'd started using that name a week ago)

"Invention not going well?" Dementia suddenly asked, making Flug jump out of his chair, landing on the tile beneath him. He looked up from the floor, seeing the top half of Dementia's head peering from the open air vent.

He had tried screwing it shut, latching it, he'd even fused the damn cover into the wall. Dementia would always found a way to not use the door.

"No, no it's not" Flug said, getting back into his chair.

Dementia slithered in, sitting on the wall opposite Flug. She watched him tamper with the small piece of metal. It had the shape of a box, but it had no buttons, levers or anything. Dementia became too curious.

"What's it do?" she asked, looking closer at the object.

"Well, it's supposed to block out all light sources in the area when activated. A sort of, powerful smoke bomb if you will. But smoke bombs usually only last up to thirty seconds tops. I was thinking of a smoke bomb that can last several minutes, and maybe even blocks out a little more light. But I can't seem to get it to work" Flug sighed, digging in his tool box. What if Black Hat walked in right now? All the more excuse to get working.

Dementia pondered this for a moment. "What about... A SQUID".

Flug looked up from his invention, raising an eyebrow in confusion. "A... squid..?".

"Think about it! When you scare a squid, it shoots ink all over the place, and it makes everything around it dark, right? Well, make the box act like a squid!".

"Dementia, that technique only works in water".

"Then make it work in air!".

Flug was about to object, but paused. "That... actually may be possible!".

He jumped up, running towards a desk that was covered in vials and beakers full of chemicals. Dementia was surprised that Flug actually considered her idea, but she followed him, where he mixed chemical after chemical.

First a hydrothermigen with biosynogen, then that with a sub category of nitroglycerin he called "Glycerico", then sprinkling in a touch of ammonia. He poured and allowed the mixture to go through his Bunsen Burner, fascinating Dementia with the swirly colors. When it came out at the other end in a gas that slowly condensed, it was a void black. Flug muttered to himself as he swirled it quickly. It became a searing red as it spun.

Flug ran to a cabinet (avoiding tripping over himself in his excitement), leaving Dementia staring at the beaker of red liquid (which slowly diverting back to black). He rummaged, soon finding a plastic bag full of finely ground glass particles. Could he have used an epoxy powder? Perhaps, but the glass particles added a "shimmering affect", though it was harmful to the lungs. But hey, he could take a little organ damage every now and then.

He brought the powder over to the beaker (which he reswirled to red) and carefully dumped half the bag out on a metal tray. He quickly poured the contents of the beaker into the bag, and used his stirring rod to mix the liquid into the powder. The powder remained red.

"What did you make?" Dementia asked, attempting to take the bag, before Flug yanked it away.

"I'll show you" he said.

He poured some of the dust into his hand. Then, taking a deep breath, he threw it into the air in front of him. The sand-like substance didn't fall, instead, it seemed to expand in the air, covering Dementia and Flug. The light was blocked out as the powder faded into black, turning the lab into a summer's night. It was thick, and moist, and suffocating. Flug waved his hands around, trying to clear the air of the fog.

After about two minutes had passed, the smoke cleared up. Although you couldn't see it, Flug was grinning widely.

"Th-This is it!!" he shouted.

He took the powder and carefully walked back to his original metal box, pouring the rest inside and screwing the lid back on.

"A smoke bomb that can last up to two minutes, and that was only a handful! Imagine what a fourth cup could do... Dementia you're a genius!" Flug shouted joyfully. Black Hat would be so proud of him.

"I'm an Einstein when I want to be" she said pridefully.

"I-I can't wait to show this to our boss! And imagine what else I could put into this box, maybe even making a poison to go along with the loss of visual! This is extraordinary, exquisite!"

"Fluggy, you're talking gibberish again" Dementia said, tapping the rim of his goggles with her nails.

Flug rolled his eyes. Why couldn't she just let him have this?

Interrupting his thoughts, the door of the lab was nearly torn off the hinges, as Black Hat made his entrance. Flug almost dropped his invention, but Dementia spun around with a wide grin, knowing exactly who it was immediately.

"Flug what are yo-" Black Hat was about to yell before Dementia flung herself on top of him.

He cursed at her, struggling to free himself from her vice-like grasp. Once again, Flug held back a growl of malcontent. What right she have to just- attack Black Hat? Why did she think she deserved him more than Flug did? He was the one who always did his best for Black Hat, she was the slacker. The rogue. The bad employee. Flug looked away. He couldn't keep having these thoughts.

Dementia was his friend. Black Hat was his boss. And it would have to stay that way. But if he thought about it- really thought about it -he recognized that he couldn't pretend forever. He was obsessed.

~1489 word count~