Chapter Text
Impulse jolts gasps for air, his chest heaving. His eyes are shut, until he opens them, his hands desperately searching for his body.
He blew up.
He was knocked out of the series, and the ringing in his ears from the sudden explosion doesn't help ground him in this new world.
New world. He's not in a death game, for once in a while. He's forgotten what it peace feels like so much that his heart is too shell-shocked to get used to it.
He sits up to help ground himself, to try to calm. His room isn't spacious, or small. It has a closet with a sliding door and a desk, and the walls floor, and everything else is mainly wood.
And soon enough, his door opens. Too soon for grounding to have helped much. While he flinches instinctively, white hair bobs and shuts the door, stepping closer to him. It's comforting to see a that face, to see Etho again.
Impulse reaches his hands out to ask for a hug and Etho sits on the bed next to him instead. His chest is still heaving to catch his breath, though the ringing quickly subsided.
His arms fall to his side, and he blinks tears away, to help dry them. He's alive, and okay, and he needs to get used to it. His eyes need to get used to it.
"Hey Impulse." Etho pets his hair, and the touch is a very welcome reminder, a comforter. It helps him breathe just to have someone in the room.
Impulse can't find it in himself to form words yet, his brain is still adjusting to the body to no body to body difference, adrenaline raising high as it was when he was alive after death and revival, to adjust to the loss then overload of sensation.
But at least, through it all, Etho pets his head with a cool hand a few more times. Tears fall but it's alright. It's okay. Etho's here.
"You failed, Impulse." Etho states. And oh, what could he mean by that? What did Impulse fail? He directs all his focus away from his breathing to look for his failure.
Etho breathes, and ears perk up, eager to hear. "You lost. What were you even trying to do?" And oh, yes he did. Etho wouldn't hate him for that, right? For not winning?
He can't breathe or think straight but Etho needs him to form words, so he'll form words, as trembling and panicked as they may be.
"I was trying to get a kill— got shot and only had a half a heart left, and I ran down the stairs and I— I blew up. I don't know what happened, I just needed some hearts and— I'm sorry! I'm sorry, Etho—"
Etho shows him mercy of petting his head once more before continuing, "I know. I know you're sorry." He looks so caring in his eyes. He doesn't want Impulse to hurt, so Impulse leans onto his shoulder for more comfort.
It's instantly met with him standing up, "Sorry's just not good enough." Etho starts walkng away and Impulse wants to scream, do something because he can't speak, he can't do anything and Etho's leaving and he failed he failed he messed up why does he always mess up? Why is he never good enough?
(Etho can feel Impulse's hand raise. He smiles behind the mask.)
The door shuts. Impulse is alone.
He can't suck in a breath and tears run down his face, and soon enough, his blanket gets soaked.
Impulse is a mistake. He is not good enough and no wonder Etho would leave him, he doesn't deserve love after failing as much as he does, constant, nonstop.
Note to self: be better.