Dix-huit [Heaven help the fool who falls in love.]

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Loop three hundred and five felt… off. In a pleasant way. How something could be off in a pleasant way was hard to pin down, but Henry would not look this gift horse in the mouth. If he and Sammy could have a good loop, he wouldn't complain about a bad one. Henry pushed the door to the music department open, axe over a shoulder.

Sammy was there to greet him, as almost always. Save for a fluke a few loops back, Sammy was always waiting. If a loop came where Sammy just didn't show, he didn't want to think of how lonely it would be.

No clearing the railing for the ink man this loop, it seemed. Sammy smiled in greeting beside the piano. He leaned against it, propped comfortably on one elbow. The banjo was slung across his back already. "My little sheep. There you are."

Seeing the fragments of humanity leeching their way back into the ink man warmed the hope in his chest. "Where else would I go?"

A shrug. "Bathroom. Maybe." The ink man leaned away from the piano and sauntered closer. "How are you feeling?"

Henry thought about it, lips drawn. "Eh… about as well as I can feel."

"So… terrible."

"More like mediocre." He smiled. "Alright. Anything from last loop you think might be important?"

"Well… I can safely say that after the first few times, being nailed into a room with you isn't so bad." He crossed his arms with a haughty tilt of his head. "Still rude, if you ask me. Seems Allison's holding up talking to Tom about her memories."

"Okay. Got it." The cartoonist shook his head with a soft chuckle. "But we can't push her too hard on that end. She has to get there on her own, like you did with me and not… y'know… hitting me with a dustpan and tying me to a pole."

A huff. "Oh, by all means, never let that go."

"Don't plan on it."

"Moving on, little sheep." He fixed Henry with a stern frown that came closer to a pout. "Would it be wrong of me to fling the soup bowl at Tom this time?" He uncrossed his arms and gesticulated at the man. "I'm tempted. If he's going to waste soup, I don't see a reason to play nice!"

Henry snorted and let loose a full laugh. "Jeez, no." Thank god Sammy had a sense of humor or he might forget how to smile.

"Understood. No fun allowed." The ink man mumbled with his growing smile. He lifted a finger to present a new point. "Now, I've noticed Buddy's getting braver. Just by a bit, but that has to mean something. I never expected he'd take up the axe, but it's a welcome change to cowering in a corner."

The cartoonist gave a nod, still feeling the laughter spreading a warm ache in his cheeks. It faded when he thought of Buddy. "Maybe Susie's torture attempts aren't working how she hoped? I'll ask when we join up." He pulled the seeing tool from his back pocket. Holding it up to look around, he found no new writing on the walls. "You want to look again?"

Sammy shook his head. "Not particularly."

Henry shrugged and turned around the room for a final look. He paused, just a bit dizzy, when he caught something on the fall board of the piano. "You sure? You might like this one."

The ink man drew close and peered over Henry's shoulder to find small print on the wood that covered the keys. YOU PLAY BEAUTIFULLY. He chuckled and waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, stop."

He chuckled back, and an idea struck him. Henry held up the tool, frowning at the glass that only showed gold where it had always been. "You know, Sammy… I only looked at you through this once. The first time I had it, down in the Lost Harbor. Nothing to see back then, but that might have changed." He peered at Sammy over his glasses. "Are you okay if I look you over?"

The man preened. "Ah, like what you see?"

"I have a hunch." And he'd sworn he'd seen something different under the mask. The slight gap that surrounded Sammy's mouth showed something… different. But one thing at a time. "You can say no."

"By all means." Sammy chuckled and spread his arms, palms out. "Have at."

The cartoonist felt a smile tug his lips as he held up the tool. Like Sammy had with him, he's started at the feet.

Sammy's legs and torso were bare of gold ink, but his hands were a different story. A gold, razor thin line ran from the tip of each finger up to his shoulders and met on his chest. A treble clef rested over where his heart was, and dozens of musical notes peppered the lines- music, Henry realized. Of course a musician would be covered in music. "You've got them, now."

Sammy tilted his head and smiled. "Ah. Fantastic."

"You have those… uh, music lines?"

"Staff lines." The correction was calm but automatic.

"Right. Going from your fingers and stopping at your chest. You're covered in music notes." Henry hummed in thought, brows lowered. "Turn around."

The ink man did, arms still out. Henry's hunch was right; the lines traced all the way around to his back, but the overalls were in the way of reading the whole thing. "Uh… you have writing on your back, but I can't really read it with the overalls strap in the way."

"Oh dear, whatever will we do?" Sammy spoke coolly, before pulling the straps off his shoulders to fully expose his back. The straps rested in the crease of his elbows, hands splayed open to the ceiling.

Henry couldn't help but chuckle. "Thank you." The lines broke apart in the middle, just at the spine, and notes fell from the broken lines. Under the lines lay a few words stacked one on top of the other. YOU WERE THE LIGHTER SIDE, which made little sense. "The staff lines meet back here, too. You have words on your back."

"Saying what?"

Henry lowered the tool with a quirked brow. "You were the lighter side. Dunno who it's referring to."

"It's yours. All yours." Sammy looked over a shoulder and shot him a grin. He pulled the straps back over his shoulders. "They're not wrong, you know. The words, I mean."

Henry paused. He had seen something in the mask's gap, but Sammy had only had a mouth before. Lifting the tool showed more gold ink that ran from the mouth of the mask. The gold ink crossed out the eyes of the mask out, and the words GET IT OFF were written between the eyes.

"Your mask has 'get it off' written between the eyes." The man replaced the tool to his back pocket, lips pursed. "Maybe we could?"

"No." Sammy turned to him fully. "I'd rather we didn't."

"I understand, but Sammy." The cartoonist shook his head slightly. "I've seen it before, you know. A few times, actually."

A huff that held no humor. "You can't see what's not there."

"Sammy. I have a feeling that something else changed. If I'm right, that means..." He paused to think. "I don't actually know what it means, but if I'm wrong, I'll never ask about your mask again."

Sammy shuffled uncomfortably at the idea of the mask being off. Even though Henry had seen it before, none of those times could he say he was stable. Er, stable enough to know the mask stayed on. "It's not pretty."

"I promise I won't ask again if I'm wrong."

The word promise didn't sound so terrible when Henry said it. How could he refuse that calming tone? "I believe you, Henry." The musician gently grasped the sides of his mask. "But, I must ask you not to scream."

The theatrics never ceased to fill Henry with a mix of unease and joy. "I promise. Close your eyes -er, try to, and don't open them until I tell you."

"Very well." Sammy took a breath and pushed off the mask. It rested on top of his head easily enough.

Henry waited, gaze on the ink mans face. The darkness of the ink made it hard to tell what was different, but something had definitely shifted. "Okay, open."

He did and was greeted with the stunned gaze of Henry.

Henry's shock melted into an almost excited smile. "Sammy, you have eyes."

He blinked. He blinked. "What?"

Henry chuckled in disbelief. "It's not just that! Get a look." He knew he had a mouth, but this? This was better than he'd hoped!

Sammy raced to the nearest shiny surface, a glass panel attached to the recording booth. He was met with the same inky skin and bald head, but now, glowing amber eyes peered out from his… face. His actual face! No more pits of black or fused ink! Still ink, but every angle and curve was all him. "Henry!" His mouth glowed when he spoke, his tongue and teeth just barely alight like dying embers. Sammy turned back to the man and grinned. "Henry! It's me!"

"I know." Even in hell, Sammy had given him reason to smile.

Sammy clasped his face with inked hands, in awe at what lay beneath his fingertips. "It's all coming back. I-it's slow work, but it's there! Proof we're on the right path!" Sammy grinned, dark, thin ink welling at the corners of his eyes. "Henry..." The musician reached outwards and hugged the cartoonist with all the gratitude his limbs could give. "Thank you."

Henry hugged back and gave a gentle smile. "Thank me when we're out of here."

Sammy pulled away after a moment, his face bright with a warm smile. He reached out and so gently lay his hand to the side of Henry's face. The faint flicker of unease Sammy felt was silenced promptly, and the ink had nothing to say in the matter. He traced a thumb against a cheekbone, eyes aglow and smile easing down from elation to grateful.

The man before him lifted his brows in question, but made no move to pull away.

Sammy took the chance. He pressed a timid kiss against Henry's mouth. Deeply as he wanted this he was prepared to be flung back or shoved away.

Henry, startled for a moment, tilted his head and returned the kiss with an embrace. He had an arm around the ink mans torso, free hand behind his head. He smiled inwardly; took him long enough.

Sammy let out a soft hum and pulled back slightly to rest their foreheads together. "I… probably shouldn't do that again."

"Wouldn't mind if you did."

"I... can't." Because the ink that enveloped him could so easily corrupt the man he clung to.

"Sammy."

"Henry. Ink madness isn't your fate."

The cartoonist blinked. "I feel fine. Good, actually. I don't think the ink really… does anything to me? I think we'd know by now, but if that's what you want-"

"It isn't." Sammy gently grasped Henry's shoulders and took a step away. "But it is what's best."

Henry lowered his arms and laced his fingers behind Sammy's back. Just to hold him still, not to confine or control. Couldn't have him panic after that. "Tell me what you want, Sammy."

"I can't." The sharpness that Sammy had when he'd been human crept into his voice. His hand slid down to rest over the man's heart. "Henry, my desires and the reality can rarely coincide." Reaching down but not looking away from those wonderful hazel eyes, Sammy pulled up Henry's left hand and gently tapped the scuffed wedding ring on it. "This is why. There's someone waiting for you out there. That is why I can't."

Henry gazed at the ring on his left hand. "My wife and I had a wonderful thirty years together. She… passed away three years ago." It still ripped him apart some days, but time helped to distance the ache. He would always love Linda, the woman that had given him so much love and two beautiful children. "The ring is a memory, not a barrier."

Sammy felt caught halfway between crying and laughing. Guilt, relief, shame, they burned the poor ink man from the inside and all he could do was deflate. He stepped back completely from Henry's grasp and let out a fragile noise. He lay a hand to his mouth until he found words. "I still can't ask that from you."

Henry blinked, brows furrowed and lips drawn. "Why not?"

"In this… place. This studio. How can I of all monsters ask to step into a place that Linda once held?"

The cartoonist blinked. "I never told you her name."

The musician froze. "No… no, you didn't." Sammy blinked-

-at the cartoonist. "Really?"

Henry grinned. "Yes! Linda and I've been trying for half a year!"

The blond froze, but smiled at the man. "Congratulations."

"Thanks." His smile faltered a little. "Something wrong?"

"Mm? Oh, no. I'm… tired. As always." Raking a hand through his blond hair and exhaling sharply, he continued. "You're lucky Bendy is so cute."

"Oh?"

"I'm seeing the little guy in my sleep. Hell of a dancer for such short legs." He leaned his head back and stared up at the ceiling. The dull ache behind his eyes was nothing new, just like late nights were nothing new. "When I get the chance to sleep, that is."

The cartoonist frowned, folding his hands in front of him on the table. "You haven't been sleeping?"

Sammy waved him off, ignoring the feather-light flutter in his chest at the man's concern. "No time, Henry. Besides, you're one to talk. I see your light still on half the time I'm walking by."

Henry's right hand tapped against the ring of his left. "Not by choice. I love my job, but I'm lucky if I see Linda even twice a week."

The blond's brows sank in a scowl. "That's-"

"Henry! Sammy!" Joey's voice boomed from halfway across the small cafeteria. He quickly made his way to the two, his smile wide and far too excited. "Good to see that you're hashing things out, but if we're gonna meet this deadline, we can't get caught up on small talk."

The cartoonist peered at his old pal from over his glasses. "Joey. We just sat down. Maybe for a minute."

"Oh, but you can sit at your desk and get work done. I do it all the time!"

Henry frowned, his steadfast patience ebbing away. "Sammy and I were talking about-"

The director placed a tight grip onto the younger mans shoulder. "I'm sure it's important, but time is m-"

"If you'd let the man speak, you wouldn't be rushing us." The musician's voice grew colder than the Bronx in mid-December, smiling tightly. "Henry was describing the current cartoon he's working his tail off to get done, so I'd know what music it'll need. If you actually paid attention, you'd know that's how we have done it. Or maybe if you'd hand me a script, I wouldn't be bothering your lead cartoonist."

If joviality were any more forced, it'd break under the weight of Joey's blank-eyed stare. "Now, Sammy. I don't like this attitude you're giving me."

Sammy's smile turned razor sharp. "Maybe if you could give me a set schedule for what you need and when, I wouldn't have a shitty attitude, Mister Drew." Standing, the lanky man tilted his head and got in Joey's face. "But if you insist, I'll get back to making your dumb little songs." He turned on his heel and stormed away, shoulders hunched. Christ Almighty, he couldn't even have a moment to breathe!

The sound of a scoff and the clap of a hand to a shoulder sounded behind Sammy. "At least you don't give me any problems, do you, Henry?"

The blond heard that, but refused to turn back. He could be as petulant as Mister Drew if he had to be.

"-come on. Sammy?"

Henry's voice pulled the ink man back to reality as Henry, present and concerned, shook him gently. The warmth of his grip on his shoulders were a comfort he felt too attached to.

"I- Oh. I… remembered something." He drew back, hand to his head.

The man's eyes widened a tad. "Really? What was it?"

"Joey was being an ass in the cafeteria. A bigger ass than I once thought I knew. Something about us being in the same room made him huffy." He shot the man a quizzical frown. "Did you ever get to tell him Linda was pregnant?"

"Only on the day I left. I hadn't seen Linda in weeks."

The prophet nodded and quickly placed his mask back on. Henry didn't need to see his face anymore. Maybe a mask was the best option. "Ah. I'm not surprised. If you're ready, we can start on this loop." He smiled sadly and picked up a wrench that hung between two nails on the closest wall. "Spare me the pity and take that..." Desperate desire for his feelings to be known? "... kiss as an act of gratitude and nothing more. No need to drag this out, I should think."

Oh, for goodness' sake! Was kissing back not clear enough? "Sammy."

"We can't delay our work for my foolish heart, little sheep." The prophet held up a hand and quickly strode to the door, curling his fingers to call Henry onward. He twirled the wrench in his other hand. "Come along."

"Sammy, I'm not saying no."

The prophet froze, wrench in mid-twirl, dropping to the floor with a thud. Trying to process what he'd heard, he tapped thumb and forefinger together on his still raised hand. "Ah." Wait. Wait. He pushed up his mask and glanced over his shoulder. "Then you're saying?"

Henry sighed and stepped behind the man. "I'm saying… I feel the same way." He smiled sheepishly. "So, we might as well take the next step." He held out his hand to the ink man, an open invitation to take hold and go forward together.

His heart hammered, but the ink man was still. "I…" Sammy swallowed. "Not that I'm not thrilled, Henry, but…"

"But?"

The ink man's face -he had a face now!- grew soft and sullen. The fingers of his empty hand tapped out a rhythm, slow and thoughtful. "I'm... not asking too much of you for this? You don't feel, ah, obligated?"

"No. I promise you that, Sammy." No one could replace Linda. She had a place in his heart no one else could take… but his heart was big enough to give someone new their own place within it. There was no hole to fill; love wasn't meant to leave a hole. Hand still held out, Henry smiled and waited. "I'm willing to try. It's up to you, Sammy."

Glowing eyes fell on the hand. The same one he'd taken time and again when uncertain or startled. Offered out of love. Sammy Lawrence drew in a breath and laced their fingers. "... then let's try." The warm hand in his grip was the most fantastic anchor in reality he could ever ask for.

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