Sanders Sides One-shots

More Than That (no ship)

Ship: none

TW: excessive use of italics

Word count: 4055

As of July 12th, 2019, this marks the 2 year anniversary of this booklet.

Thank you all. Thank you, really.

This is a chapter I've written especially for it. Enjoy!

Note is at the bottom!

I am your insecurity.

I am the stutter in your voice when you try to speak aloud. I make your voice pause slightly-just on the brink of stopping-because you fear what you say won't make a difference regardless.

I am the doubt that clouds your mind on days where your phone is silent but your mind is loud. I make you wonder if every little moment you've spent with your friends is a lie.

I am the hand that pinches the fat around your stomach when you stand in front of the mirror before a shower. I evoke that small bit of pain when you pinch that bit too hard, wishing it'd fade between your fingers.

I am the voice in your head that keeps you company in the loneliness of your bedroom. When the owls outside hoot, I make the suggestion that they too are whispering rumours about you.

I am the cue for you to stop talking when someone cuts you off whilst you're talking. I urge you to smile-c'mon, wider, make it more believable-and say "i've forgotten" when (if) they ask you to continue.

I am the body language you adopt whenever we head into the crowds; the way you shrink in on yourself and the nervous picking at the skin around your nails. I remind you how easy it is to be forgotten in the big city.

I am the overanalyser whenever you trip over your words. I will repeat the mistakes to you again and again and again and again because you ruined the opportunity you were given to project your thoughts (if anyone even wanted to hear them in the first place).

I am the sudden fear you have in the midst of a good day, because did you lock your door? Did you turn off your stove? Did you leave the tap running? I ruin the rest of your day from fear that the home you spent years building will no longer be there when we get back. The furniture mom and dad gave us will have gone to waste, and they'll realise how much of a failure their son is.

I am the reminder to check your pockets-keys, wallet, phone-before you even step out the door. I make you double-triple check, because what if you're forever locked out? What if that homeless person on the streets dies because you didn't give them money? What if you witness a crime and need to call 911?

I am the manners that you punctuate each sentence with. I assure you that there can never be enough "please"s in a sentence when you need to ask someone to pass the salt, and never enough "thank you"s when they do so.

I am the restraint that you display when you're at a restaurant with "friends" (because who would love you?). I make you wait for them to start eating before you can, and you only get seconds if someone else gets seconds.

"But I'm more than that," I whisper, when I project my voice too loud at night one day and you lay there in bed, eyes blank as they stare at the ceiling, but stinging and watery.

I am your control.

I am the abrupt jerk that pulls your fork away from the toaster. I make you blink slowly as you set the fork down, and I am the shudder that courses through your body as you realise how close you were to becoming toast.