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Ink settles into the warmth of Dream's neck.
The morning light shines its way through the half open curtains. Ink tightens the grasp he has around Dream, pulling him as tight against his chest as Ink can manage. He breathes him in: dandelions and daisies.
Ink takes his role of backpack seriously, thank you very much.
Dream awakens with a bit of a start; Ink would say it was cute- how he was all twitches and grumbles: but concern twinges at the back of Ink's mind. It doesn't sit right with him how Dream was always ready to jump and react. The only time that Dream seemed fully peaceful and relaxed was, well, when he was asleep. Dreaming.
"Hmmrng," Dream mumbles, rolling over to face Ink. He blinks, reaching out a hand and placing it on the side of Ink's head. Ink leans into the touch, sighing as Dream traces circles with the pad of his thumb. This is a fantastic way to spend his mornings, Ink has found. It's only been a few weeks of being... together. But, Ink has already settled into it like paint drying on canvas.
"Hey yourself," Ink finally responds, voice low and gentle. He settles a hand over Dream's. It's warm, comfortable. "C'mere," he whispers, pulling Dream into a sweet and lazy kiss.
Dream obliges. He hums against his mouth, pleasant. But, he pulls away all too soon, sitting up and shaking himself awake. He blinks. He looks like he might still be lost in a dream, Ink thinks.
"Mornin'," Dream says, eye-lights still distant. It's always a bit odd, seeing him without his circlet. Ink finally understands why Dream is so often mistaken for a 'Sans'. There's a tiredness that haunts the edges of his eye sockets: a weariness that seems to settle in the marrow of his bones.
He's handsome.
Ink sits up and presses another kiss to the corner of Dream's mouth. One should always show appreciation for their favorite works of art, after all. And with ease, Ink swings a leg over Dream's thigh, settling himself over Dream's hips. He rests a hand on Dream's chest, pushing him up and against the headboard as he catches Dream's mouth in yet another kiss. Dream sighs into the contact. He pulls Ink even closer. They... haven't, yet. But, just maybe...
An alarm blares from Dream's phone.
Ink groans, pulling away. Dream fumbles around until he finally shuts off that blasted noise.
"Sorry," Dream mumbles through a yawn. He brings the back of his hand to his eye sockets, rubbing away the remaining sleep. "I have to get going."
With only a bit of hesitation, Ink removes himself from Dream's lap, watching as the other untangles himself from the covers and stands up.
Dream shuffles about, working through the steps of his morning routine. He pokes his head out from the bathroom, toothbrush still hanging loosely from his mouth as he says, "See you later? It's group dinner night."
Ink blinks. Sure. Why not. He shrugs his shoulders, non-committal.
Dream seems pleased with this, getting back to the important task of brushing his teeth. But, almost expectantly, he pokes his head back through the doorway. He pulls the toothbrush from his mouth and points it at Ink accusingly. "Write it down," he says, firm but mirthful.
Ink rolls his eye-lights. He rolls himself off his bed, hitting the floor with an insignificant thud. His scarf is there to meet him. He pulls a pencil from his pocket, scribbles down a reminder, and picks himself up: starting his own morning routine.
It's not like Ink truly sleeps: only meditates, processing the events of that day. Sometimes he does pass out, body giving itself up to whatever stress it had been put under. But, it's rare. Dream had stayed over at the Doodlesphere, that night. Ink had held him until he had fallen asleep- which didn't take very long. He'd pulled himself up and gone about his typical night, then: puttering about while he satisfied all his creative desires. It was about... an hour until morning, before Ink had crawled back into bed, pulling Dream close: beginning the process of his daily meditation.
It doesn't take either of them very long to finish their routines. Ink drops Dream back off at the Star Team base, leaving himself with only Broomie and the day ahead of him.
"Hmm..." Ink hums. "What should we do now, Broomie?"
Ink nods. He brings a hand to his chin, considering.
"Yes, I was thinking the same thing," Ink turns his head back, addressing Broomie, before jumping head first into a portal: Outertale.
-
Outertale is as beautiful as always.
The air is cool against Ink's face. He basks in the endless wonder: the twirling galaxies, the ineffable constellations.
Ink doesn't have a favorite AU. But...
"Stain."
Ink spins around. He smiles- of course.
"Hi, Error!" Ink greets, raising a hand in a small wave.
Error is already walking towards him. He looks like he usually does: hunched over with a displeased expression wearing at his face. He's all grumbles and complaints, harmless. He has his knitting supplies in hand, making the reason that he's here pretty clear.
"I thought you had forgotten," Error narrows his eye sockets, voice edging on exasperated. He takes a step forward- not super close, there's still a wide breadth given to both of their personal spaces. But, close enough to make a point. Close enough that Ink can see when Error's brows knit themselves together.
Ink blinks.
What?
"Of course not!" Ink lies. He shrugs his arms, cocking his head to the side. The less information he gives, the better. Error can fill in the blanks for him. Ink knows this routine all too well: he knows how to play this game.
"You forgot."
Shit.
Ink's smile only falters for a second. He quickly readjusts himself, shifting from foot to foot. He looks at Error, shrugging in the only ways he knows how.
Error sighs. He shakes his head.
To Ink's surprise, Error closes the distance and presses something into Ink's hand.
"Don't mention it," he says, turning on his heel before settling himself down on the starry Outertale ground. He pulls out his knitting project and gets to work: ignoring Ink.
Ink looks down at the object in his hand.
It's a crocheted doll. Him.
He traces the edge of the ink splatter, before bringing up a hand to his face: mindlessly tracing his own cheek. Hours- days, were put into this, clearly. It was made with love and care. Ink trails a hand over his bandolier. He picks out green, gold, pink, and blue. It tastes like the night sky, flowing down his throat. He holds the doll against his chest.
"Thank you, Error," Ink says, honest. There's a warmth in his rib cage. Blooming.
Error doesn't look up. He continues to ignore Ink. Ink would be a fool if he had expected anything else.
He sits himself down, settling into the cool grass of the earth: safe. His sketchbook sits on his lap, he pulls out his favorite pencil; Ink draws, quiet and happy.
It's a couple hours, before Error stands up to leave.
He simply stands up, stretches his legs, utters a quiet, "Bye," and heads out through one of his portals. Unremarkable.
Ink stands up himself. He feels refreshed; invigorated. He needs to get out- be productive.
Helping creation sounds like a good idea, right about now.
Ink skips out and off into the Multiverse.
-
Ink has had a nice day, so far. He's gotten a decent amount done- watched the birth of a couple AUs, checked in on some of his favorite stories, and stocked up on some more of his ink. He's found himself in the Omega Timeline, sitting on a park bench, watching as folks go about their day.
He narrows his eye sockets. Is that?
"Baby-Blue!"
Blue whips his head around from where he had just passed by Ink.
He blinks. "Uh, hi. Ink," he says, voice unusually tentative. He shifts from foot to foot, eye-lights flickering back to Ink and then back to the path in front of him: he's carrying a basket, full of groceries no doubt. He sighs. Defeat. He walks over and sits down next to Ink.
"Soooo..." Ink draws out, leaning back. He pillows his head with his arms, crossing his legs as he stretches. "Whatcha' up to?"
Blue hesitates. He moves his basket to the ground, careful.
"I'm running errands," he says after a pause. He turns to look at Ink, throwing him a quick smile.
Ink hums. He leans over, picking a piece of lint off of Blue's shirt. Blue stares at his movement, eye-lights trailing the action line of Ink's hands: a little unsure. He accepts it, though.
Blue is... fine. He's a fine ally, a fine friend, a fine character. He had been more... open and willing, when Ink had first met him. Now, some days, it felt like Blue was weighed down by the entire Multiverse itself.
It felt weird, with how the Multiverse made Ink feel like a bird released into the endless sky.
"Do ya want company?" Ink asks, watching as Blue cringes. Ink meets Blue's bright morning sky gaze. Blue looks away.
Something is going on, here.
Ink pauses. He ponders. He doesn't really care, he decides.
He shrugs.
"I'm not going to keep you here."
Blue seems to visibly relax. He sighs, standing up, basket back in hand.
"See you later, Ink," Blue says, going on his way.
Was... there something planned later?
Ink wonders. But, well, that's a problem for future Ink.
-
Ink finds himself in Zephyrtop.
He shuts his eye sockets, basking in the fresh smell of wildflowers and soaking up the heat of the setting sun. It felt like heaven, here: home. Being known; Safety.
Ink takes his time, as he walks through the field of flowers. The porch to the house creaks and rattles in all the ways that Ink knows it to. The door opens without any complaint: unlocked and welcoming.
The house is perfectly cluttered. There's a room for him, down the hallway and to the left.
"Heya!" Ink calls out.
No response.
Ink narrows his eye sockets. Instinctively he raises a hand to Broomie, prepared.
If anything had happened to them... He would, well. Ink doesn't actually know. He'd figure it out, probably.
Ink takes a step forward. His gaze lands on a sticky note, stuck to the coffee table. He picks it up.
'Don't worry! We're out. Check your scarf. Love,
BT + A'
Ink blinks.
Huh.
Ink holds out his scarf- looking at where his most recent notes would be. He furrows his brow: processing. Ah. He sees.
Rummaging through his pocket, Ink pulls out his pocket watch. Ah, good. He won't be too late.
Ink heads off.
-
Ink emerges from his portal to the Star Team's base. He brushes himself off, practiced.
The doorknob is welcoming, underneath his hand. He turns it.
"Surprise!"
Ink jolts.
That's what he'd forgotten.
"Stars," Ink says, bringing his hands to his mouth. The living room has been turned into an absolute mess of color: pure chaos incarnate. There's streamers covering the walls, glitter thrown about, and balloons tucked into every nook and cranny.
It's fantastic.
Ink can feel the heat of tears pool in the corner of his eye sockets- both the deep ocean blue and sunset orange at fault. He blinks.
Dream steps forward, leaving the side of a giggling Blue. His posture is ramrod straight, hands tucked neatly behind his back. There's a streak of batter, painted across his face: cheek to cheek. Some food coloring sticks to the front of his cape. He's been busy, clearly.
Ink hasn't yet processed that he's rocking back and forth on his heels- that his hands have started to move on their own accord.
Of course.
"It's World Art Day," he whispers, looking up as Dream places a hand on the small of his back- guiding him forward.
Dream rolls his eye-lights, smiling: brighter than the sun itself. He giggles
"It's your birthday, silly."
Ink blinks.
Oh. That too.
Ink walks forward, taking it all in.
On the coffee table is an absolutely extravagant cake- bright and colorful. There's about... Ink can't count the amount of candles that litter the surface.
"The candles- that's what you nearly caught me getting earlier," Blue laughs. He wipes a hand across his face, a little embarrassed. "We. Uh. Weren't actually sure how old you were turning? So we just put what we could."
Ink nods. "Twenty-six," he informs.
"You were twenty-six last year!" Dream laughs.
Blue snorts, "And the year before that."
"I believe that is what you told me three years ago, Inkling."
Ink's head snaps up.
Ink is running forward before he can even process it.
"Big Top! Aster!"
There, in the Star Team base, stand two of his favorite people in the entire Multiverse.
Gaster knows to expect it, when Ink throws himself into his arms. He swings around just a bit before setting him down with care. Ink practically jumps up and down.
"Happy birthday!" Gaster says, as he pats Ink on the head. He reaches up, taking his top-hat from his head and settling it on Ink's skull. It flops over a bit- clearly not the tailor made fit that it was supposed to be. But, Ink can't help but grin.
Ink looks over to Aster- who's waving at him, smiling. "Agreed. Happy birthday, Ink," he says, voice tinted a mirthful dandelion yellow.
Oh, how the colors swirl through the marrow of Ink's bones. It feels like he's just been plunged head first into an ocean of buttercups- will he ever be able to reach the surface? Ink doesn't know. He doesn't really care.
He turns his gaze to Dream, who's standing awkwardly to the side. He's shifting from foot to foot, wringing his hands.
"You may want to thank him," Gaster says while gesturing over to Dream, tone gentle,. Ink cocks his head to the side, curious. Dream adverts his gaze, when Ink tries to meet it.
"He set this event up," Gaster explains.
"And he baked that excellent looking cake!" Aster adds, stepping forward. Dream seems to curl in on himself.
"I- I didn't do that much, in reality. It's-"
"Don't sell yourself short, boy," Gaster chastises in what Ink has come to think of as his 'dad' voice.
Dream blinks. He raises an eyebrow, considering Gaster- probably not used to any parental affection at all; Probably not used to being called 'boy'. But he moves on, finally turning to face Ink head on, smiling shyly. Ink smiles back.
"Thank you, Sunshine," Ink says, approaching Dream.
Dream blushes. He looks at him: clearly considering. Ink fights the urge to reach out and take one of his hands- he... Dream wasn't ready to be open about it, yet. In due time. It's like... keeping your work in progress secret: the better the reveal is, the longer you can hold out.
"You're welcome, Ink," Dream finally says. He does take a step forward. Ink basks in his warmth, his radiance. "I was..." Dream trails off.
"Go on."
"Could we talk for a moment? Privately- just a moment."
Ink blinks. Sure, why not. He takes off the hat still perched on his head and hands it over to Gaster, who gives him an encouraging nod.
As they walk to the kitchen, Ink's eye-lights travel over to the couch. Red, design as cool as it always, finally acknowledges him. Ink giggles. So, so cool.
-
As soon as they're alone, Ink throws himself at Dream.
The kiss tastes of honey and dancing at midnight while the fireplace burns hot. Ink sighs into the contact. Dream has to reach out a hand, steadying himself against the counter.
Dream pushes Ink away: gentle. He smiles.
"I... um," Dream mumbles. He stands up straight, tucking his hands behind his back once more.
Ink daydreams about drawing him- drawing this moment. Would he use watercolor, or, no: oil paints. Maybe a mixed medium... Is there anything that could truly capture these feelings, this beauty? The dim overhead light shines down on Dream's skull: a halo. He's an angel.
With great self-control- more than Ink knows he had; Ink stops himself from leaning forward and pressing another kiss into the corner of Dream's mouth. Instead, he stands still: listening.
"I..." Dream trails off again. He looks around. He's like an animal, looking for nearby predators. Finally, after one two many moments, Dream pulls something from his inventory.
Ink looks down, as Dream ties something around his wrist.
It's a bracelet. Hand woven: the colors of the rainbow.
Ink feels something churn, inside his rib cage. He stifles a sniffle- damn the navy blue running through his bones.
But, Dream isn't done. Before Ink knows it, Dream is holding out a folded piece of paper, blush golden. Ink reaches out to take it. Gentle. The paper is thick, expensive. There's gold decorating the edges. Ink turns it over and there, on the back, is a picture clearly drawn by Dream: the two of them holding hands. Ink breathes. He holds the letter against his chest.
"Read that later- let's get back to the others," Dream says, looking away. Smile bright.
Before walking back to start the celebration, proper: Ink takes Dream's face in his hand, pressing one last kiss to his cheek.
-
Later, in the privacy of the Doodle Sphere, Ink opens Dream's letter.
-
Dear Ink,
Happy Birthday! You have made it another year. But, it's not like there was any question of that.
I have so much to say. And yet, my words appear to have escaped me. I wonder where they are- perhaps they are out dancing with all the numbers I struggle to remember. That sounds nice.
You've likely forgotten that it's your birthday- honestly I hope you have, only for the fact that it will make surprising you easier. I've invited your family to join us for tonight's celebration (why have you never told me, that they were fans of me? Were you sparing me the embarrassment? Or did you simply forget. In any case: yes, they showed me their copy of my 'fairytale'. Yes, I signed it. They're very, very nice. You likely already know this.)
If there's one thing I want you to know, it's that you're more kind than you think. I know you struggle with your emotions. I know that you believe that you are incapable of true understanding. Your ink may be artificial. But, your reactions are real. I know this: every time I see you laugh at one of Blue's dumb jokes or threaten to end me when I've stolen another one of your pens (They're the best around- what can I say!) Or, most importantly, I see the way you look at the Multiverse. I see how you look at me. I once heard you call yourself a concept- the first droplet of ink in creation. I believe it would be more accurate to put it this way:
You are the love that drives creation.
I know you see the world as stories. I hope this has been a good one.
Here's to another year. I hope you allow me to spend it by your side.
Yours,
Sunshine