Sunglasses. Of all things why did his subconscious decide he should doodle sunglasses? Anxiety huffed and scribbled over the drawing, ignoring the implications of his actions. What did it matter? Sunglasses could mean anything. He didn't know anyone especially prone to wearing them everywhere.
Not at all. Nope.
His phone lit up beside him and that only made him think about the number sitting there, waiting to be called. Bouncing his leg, he flipped his phone over so he wouldn't be bothered by her - it - anymore.
He stared down at the paper in front of him, covered in doodles that he scratched out because they weren't good enough. He groaned and ran a hand through his purple hair, trying to focus his scattered thoughts.
Call them call them call them. His mind kept chanting, which was ridiculous, because he'd never voluntarily call someone, even if they were his Side. He didn't want to do it. He didn't! And when you don't want to do something because it scares you a lot, the best thing to do is listen to yourself and not fucking do it.
Text them text them text them. More likely, but still no.
Why did it even matter? Anxiety didn't need his Sides. He had been alone his entire life; there was no need to change that now. It wasn't like he was lonely or anything. He was entirely satisfied with where he was in life right now. He had a killer job and a nice apartment; what else would he need?
His chest spiked with a sudden pain. Anxiety huffed and rubbed his shirt, hoping the pain would lessen. The doctor told him this would keep happening until he was Established. He told the doctor to fuck off. Quietly. In his head.
Honestly he thought the whole "fusion" business was unnecessary. Why couldn't he just be himself? Yeah, he didn't particularly want to be himself. But letting someone fuse with him? To get to know him deeply and personally? Not gonna happen.
What he had come to terms with as a teenager was that being himself sucked and being someone else sucked and life in general just (you guessed it) sucked. There was no escape.
It didn't help that his parents kept bugging him about it.
When are you gonna fuse?
I can introduce you to a nice boy, he looks a bit like you!
You're not even trying to make it work!
Anxiety refocused on his paper, realizing he was doodling Missy's face while lost in his thoughts. Her hair framed her face so gently, and her smile was a kind, trusting one. She had big eyes, full of emotion. Even though he only met her once, every detail of her face was ingrained in his head. (Mostly because they shared the same face.) He was about to scribble it out; but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Because it was a good drawing. That's all.
The bell above the door jingled. Anxiety looked up as two girls walked in, holding hands. He could already tell they were Sides, and tried to not seem annoyed. He got a lot of Sides as his clients. They always wanted something cutesy and matching. Which is good for them, but sometimes Anxiety wanted to draw a skull and crossbones or something.
"How can I help you?" He asked politely.
"Do you have time for a walk in?" One girl asked.
In response, Anxiety gestured to the empty room with a raised eyebrow. When the girls giggled nervously, he offered them a small smile and said, "So, what're we thinking for today?"
The girls show him a design on their phones, a bouquet of flowers with the phrase 'Self care; self share' on a little banner. Anxiety glanced up when one of the girls explained, "We want it to be able to last during fusion and Establishment. Can you do that?"
Anxiety nodded, "Yeah, but you'll have to get it in the same spot."
"That's fine." One girl smiled.
"We want it on our shoulder." The other agreed.
It was pretty common for close Sides to refer to themselves as one. It was just another thing Anxiety didn't like about fusion culture. Like, once you find your other pieces, you lose your individuality. That just didn't sound right to him. He didn't want to be the "other half". He wanted to be full, by himself.
Anxiety took the phone and walked back to his workbench. He carefully drew the piece out, making sure the letters were big enough and easy to read.
Once he was finished, he returned to the girls to show it to them. "What'd'ya think?"
They squealed and squeezed each other's hands. It could be assumed they liked it.
"Are we gonna color it?" He asked.
"No, the line art is fine." One girl said.
The other nodded, "Just some shading."
"Cool." Anxiety took the sketch back to copy it to his ink paper. Then he brought the girls back to his work station, and one of them volunteered to go first. He pressed the ink paper against her shoulder, carefully peeling it off to reveal the purple outline. The girl looked in the mirror and then showed it to her Side. They both liked the placement, so Anxiety started to set up his needle.
"Is it gonna hurt?" The girl going first asked.
Anxiety wanted to make a sarcastic remark. But you have to be nice to clients. He looked her in the eye and tried to sound reassuring. "Only for a while. Remember, pain is temporary; tattoos are forever. If you really want this tattoo, the pain will be worth it."
She took a deep breath, smiled, and nodded. Anxiety didn't tell her that a tattoo meant to last through fusion would hurt more. That would only freak her out.
Before long, he was going to work. The girls chatted with each other, holding hands when the pain got too bad. Anxiety zoned them out, focusing on following the lines.
"What happens if another one of our Sides has a different tattoo in the same place?" One girl asked.
Anxiety shrugged. "That's actually pretty rare. But I guess biology decides. Sometimes one of them disappears, sometimes they're smashed together. If it comes out funky, just come right back here and I'll fix it up."
The girls giggled at that, which made Anxiety share a small smile. He returned to the tattoo, starting on another flower. After a while, Anxiety asked, "So why this phrase?"
The shorter girl piped up, "Self care is important for a healthy fusion. And part of that is sharing who you are with your other Sides. You can't be fully Established until you're able to share all parts of yourself."
"Huh." Anxiety said quietly. He tried to concentrate on the tattoo, but his mind was stuck on the saying. Eventually, he asked, "What would you two do … if you didn't like one of your Sides?"
"What do you mean?" One asked.
Anxiety paused, turning the needle off for a moment. "Like… what if your next side was Slob or Greed or something equally bad. What if they're a trait you don't want to have? Would you still want them?"
The two girls stared at each other for a moment, apparently contemplating his question.
"Well, yeah." One girl finally said.
The other nodded, "I mean… it would suck. But that's what you gotta do to be Established."
Anxiety pursed his lips. "Right."
He didn't talk anymore. He didn't think he'd be able to, even if he wanted. Suddenly, his body was moving on automatic. He was watching more than participating. The tattoo came to life under his fingertips and all he could do was stare at the phrase.
Self care; self share.
Why would he want to share himself if the reaction was going to be "if I have to". He didn't want someone to feel forced to be with him. Is that how Missy and Remy are going to feel? Do they feel that way already? Since they know what he is? Did Missy tell Remy? Or did she keep it a secret?
Of course she told him. They're Sides. They fuse. Nothing is secret. So when Remy finds out about him, he's going to be all "No way, darling, he's not for us." Because why would they want him?
He was going to be alone forever.
And he was going to drag Missy and Remy down with him. You can't be Established with only four Sides, so that means they'll either be forced to be with him (NO!) or they'll just be Sides forever.
Oh my God, what if they die from not fusing? It's been known to happen. The body pains get worse and worse and then you die. They're all going to die eventually. And it'll be his fault. Because he's bad. Because no one will want him.
Anxiety blinked and the tattoo was done. He cleared his throat, pulled away, and muttered, "Next."
He didn't watch as the girls looked at the tattoo and switched spots. He wordlessly grabbed his gauz and disinfectant and gestured to the new tattoo. The girl took a picture first and then he patched it up, before getting ready to do the next one.
Rinse and repeat.
He kept all of his freak outs on the inside, where they're supposed to be, and finished the second tattoo as quick as he could (while still making it look good). They paid and left, Anxiety following behind them to lock the door and flip his 'Open' sign to 'Closed'. His hands were shaking too bad for another walk in. He tried to focus on his breathing, tried to calm down, but he couldn't.
No one will ever love you.
No one will ever fuse with you.
You're worthless.
Youre, you're, you're-
He pulled out his phone. Phones are good, phones are safe, and fun. He scrolled through Tumblr, not seeing what was flying across his dash. Just scrolling, scrolling, scrolling, until he didn't feel like his heart was going to explode.
And then, once he looked up from the void and saw his reflection in the window, he broke down all over again. Remy was staring back at him, with a judgemental expression and a sneer. His lips were moving but Anxiety couldn't hear any sounds. He closed his eyes and tried to push out his swarming thoughts, but he glanced up at the glass again. This time it was Missy. Her eyes were full of pity, she shook her head and looked away. Anxiety could see tears streaming down her face.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck-
He was going to hurt them by not being with them. He was going to hurt them by being with them. There was no fucking way to win.
Frustration forced its way out of him with a shout as he swiped his arms across his desk, sending his art supplies flying.
Everything was silent.
He stood there, panting, as his trait was satisfied. His anxiety shriveled away to come back later, when he least wanted it. His knees buckled, and he caught himself on the desk.
"Jesus Christ, Virge." He muttered to himself, rubbing his hand over his sweaty forehead. Eventually, he was able to kneel down and pick up his pencils and markers.
One at a time. That's right. Simple tasks. One at a time…
Lastly, he grabbed his sketchbook, which was face down. When he picked it up, he saw a red marker under it, the lid nowhere to be found. Looking at the sketchbook, he sighed.
Anxiety sat down on the floor, frowning down at the drawing he unintentionally ruined. Across the drawing of Missy, there was now a dark red slash; where marker had smeared across paper.
Something about the sight made a sorrow fill his chest. He didn't mean to be bad…
Suddenly, the doctors voice rang in his ears, "Your attacks are only going to get worse unless you take action. You need to fuse."
He couldn't. They won't want him.
"You need to-"
No! He won't! He can't! It's too much!
His phone was in his hand. When'd it get there? He didn't know, but now he was staring down at his messaging app. He couldn't. He couldn't.
Three hours and a shower later and he was standing in front of a door. He glanced down at his phone to make sure he was in the right place. Then he double checked. Just to be sure.
He should really turn back now, before it's too late- aaaand the door is opening, fuck.
"Hello, darling!" One voice said.
"Oh, I thought that was you." Another said.
Anxiety's fists were clenched tight by his sides and he tried to make eye contact but ended up a little to the left. He nodded, then tried again, using words. "Uh, yeah."
He shuffled his feet, then muttered, "Hi, Remy. Hi, Missy."
Tell me what you think!
