Anti goes missing for eight months, and when he returns, he's not the same. He's a shadow of his former self at best, and that's something the Septics are going to have to get used to if they want to help him recover.
Romantic Antiaverage ahead, fo...
Anti and I were sitting on the couch, watching TV. This had become a new favorite activity recently, because it didn't require much energy, and it still let Anti adjust to being around the normal atmosphere of the building. He'd gotten a lot more comfortable moving around the house on his own over the past week, much to my relief.
I watched Robbie limp into the living room, closely followed by Jameson. JJ gave a bouncy wave as he sat on an armchair, poised as though he were at a thousand-dollar-a-breadstick restaurant rather than his living room. Robbie attempted the same wave, frowning when his hand moved too slow. He maneuvered himself onto the floor like a toddler, letting himself fall against the ground once he was within a half-meter's range. Anti returned the waves, a small smile on his face.
We sat in silence for a few minuets, until a zombified groan interrupted that. Usually he could form a somewhat coherent sentence, but he seemed to be struggling with that in the moment. "What's up, bud?", I asked, leaning up.
Robbie motioned towards the remote, and then at the TV. "You wanna turn up the TV?", I guessed. He shook his head, and repeated the motion.
"You want to turn... off the TV?", I guessed again, eyebrows furrowed. That didn't make much sense. Robbie let out a frustrated growl and shook his head.
Anti leaned up next to me, "D-do you wanna change the channel?" Robbie nodded excitedly, clapping his hands together.
Anti looked at me as though asking permission, hand hovering foreword. "Go for it!", I said, mentally cursing myself for not getting Robbie's signal. I dealt with both kids going through a visual communication phase, how did I miss that?
Anti leaned over my lap to grab the remote, stretching far enough that he was practically laying over my legs. I noticed with relief how his sleeve no longer sagged around his bicep, now that he looked less like a skeleton.
He hesitantly sat on the floor next to Robbie, a nervous glint in his eye, "St- uh, stop me when you get to a channel you like."
JJ joined them on the ground, so Anti was sandwiched between the two of them, and leaned closer to him. He really likes Paw Patrol, it's on the Nickelodeon channel., JJ signed.
Anti frowned, chewing his lower lip, "I'm- I'm really sorry, Jameson. I don't, um... I don't understand what you're saying."
Jameson nodded, and brought up the random, disembodied text that seemed to be his only power.
Anti nodded, "Oh- Alright. W- Uh, what channel is that?" Jameson's shoulders bounced in a silent laugh, starting to sign the numbers before quickly stopping and returning to his text methods. Anti changed it to said channel, and Robbie gave a happy clap. Well, it was more like a hand tap with how sluggish his movements were at the moment, but the message was clear.
While the zombie watched his show, Jameson decided to teach Anti some sign language. It was an adorable scene to witness, really. Whenever Anti would remember a letter or a word, he'd get really excited, and Jamie would be equally so for him. Robbie glanced over at them every now-and-then, a sort of sad, almost frustrated look in his eyes.
After maybe thirty minutes of this process, the zombie tapped Anti on the shoulder. It looked like a rough tap, and it made Anti jump.
"Æ- Hi, Robb- Robs. What's- What's wrong?", the sound he emitted when startled could only be described as a train screeching to a halt. Robbie motioned towards Anti, then the TV, seemingly unfazed by the noise.
"You want me to change it again?", Anti asked. Robbie shook his head. "Ø-Oh, you want me to watch?", Anti realized. Robbie nodded happily.
Anti fingerspelled s-o-r-r-y to Jameson, correcting the s, but JJ shook his head with a smile.
Don't worry about it, chap., appeared over his head, and he signed it as well. Well... the equivalent to it.
They sat like that for a few hours, the little trio watching what changed from Paw Patrol to some show about cartoon monster trucks I hadn't seen before.
After a while, I decided to cook dinner. We'd been living off of fast food and snacks for the last month, and I was probably the... third best cook in the house? Behind Marvin and Henrik, of course.
Then again, Schneep only had second best because he could follow a recipe well. The man had no sense of intuition when it came to altering the food he made. Jameson would've taken his place if he had cookware from his time period, but as it was, he could barely work the stove. Jackieboy came in dead last whichever way you sliced it; he was a total disaster in the kitchen. He'd actually set a piece of bread on fire in the toaster before.
So anything was better than that, right? Spaghetti wasn't anything terribly special, but I figured it was simple and fairly quick, so I couldn't mess it up too bad.
When I stood, Anti didn't acknowledge the movement. Either he didn't notice or he didn't care, and either option was good. I made my way over to the kitchen, and in true House fashion, everything I needed was sitting in its place. Soon the entire first floor smelled like sauce, and when Marvin casually made his way downstairs I could tell it had made it to the second floor, too.
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