Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tik.

Tok.

Tik.

Tok.

The echos of the wall mounted clock seemed to have filled the dark empty room. The gentle tiks were occasionally accompanied by the distant snores of neighbors who slumber in their beds. The slow breeze that encouraged surrounded trees to tap softly on the glimmering windows would also join in the orchestra of the night. Usually this type of gentle white noise would lull anyone to sleep. Anyone except Pickle.

The TV screen illuminated his figure on the bed, tired, slouched with his eyes seemingly dazed as he mindlessly progressed in his game. He would never show it, but Pickle often had trouble sleeping. Many would chalk up his drowsiness to all nighters of video games, which to be fair were true assumptions. However, there was a much deeper reason to why Pickle tended to avoid sleep.

Because whenever he closed his eyes.

She was there.

Taco...

Pickle felt his eyes grow misty as he quickly shook off the feeling of dread. Taco was his closest friend in season 1 of Inanimate Insanity. She was so kind, and funny and so animated, all of her energy was shared with Pickle. She meant the world to him. But she didn't think the same.

Pickle groaned as his avatar had fell into an easy trap, causing a big "Game Over" to be plastered on his screen. Usually Pickle would pass this level easily but, the letters from Taco kept fogging his mind. With tired, drained eyes, Pickle shut off his game, tossing the controller aside and flopping onto his bed, blankly staring a hole in the ceiling above him. Before he would be able to ignore all the bad feelings inside him because he had Knife as a roommate who would join his thinly veiled attempts at bottling up feelings by playing video games together. Though Knife wasn't here anymore, he was competing in a new season of Inanimate Insanity.

Pickle heaved a heavy sigh as he scrolled through his phone and noticed the time was 3 in the morning. He sighed as he glanced at the window. Such a gentle moonlight glow was trying to creep it's way into his room, but for some reason it made him feel even lonelier.

"She's probably seeing the same moon too..."

Pickle hated that he thought like that. He hated that he still missed her. What was there to even miss? Taco who screamed "Sour Cream" and dove off cliffs with him isn't coming back. Taco who he made an alliance with isn't going to want to talk to him. The Taco he knew and loved never existed. Why should he miss and be hurt by someone who never existed?

Pickle felt the pit of shame and self hatred start to build up. There was no way he was going to have a breakdown at all. He can't. He couldn't. Pickle did everything he could to keep those feelings from coming out in front of everyone because the last thing he wanted was for anyone to show him pity or show a sign of weakness. They rely on him for laughs and being fun, not to be a downer and a sour guy.

Maybe something to eat will take my mind off of her...

Pickle slowly got up, and shuffled to the door, opening it as quietly as he could. After tip toeing down the stairs and nearly bumping into the wall, he made it into the kitchen. Sure he probably couldn't cook something but there has to be something easy he could just snack on to avoid the never ending self hatred and regret. If an apple a day can keep the doctor away, why not food helping with negative emotions?

"Come on... There has to be something in here..."

Pickle grumbled as he checked the shelves, but a lot of them were food that might take a while to cook, or things he just didn't want to eat at all. With every second that seemed to go by, Pickle felt himself getting more and more agitated as he scratched his head, trying to find something to fill his stomach besides hatred. Maybe the fridge will hold better luck.  Pickle opened the fridge and scanned the shelves until his eyes lingered at something neatly wrapped in the corner of the fridge.

Tacos.

Pickle slammed the fridge door closed, banged his head on the fridge, covered his face in his hand and muffled a scream. He was feeling like he was at his wits end. Why does every little thing need to remind him of her?

He never wants to see her.

But he missed her.

He wanted to disappear.

But he wants to be able to hug her again.

He wants to cry.

But he wants to laugh with her again.

He hated her.

But he loved her.

Pickle felt tears escaping through his fingers as he tried his best to stifle his sobs as he sunk down to his knees. Everything hurt and he couldn't stop it. He just wanted it to all disappear, for him to disappear. How pathetic was it to miss someone who hurt you so badly so many years ago? Pickle hugged his knees close as he tried to bite back more tears. He felt so alone.

"Pickle? Is that you?"

Chapter Text

"Pickle is that you?"

Pickle whipped his head around to see OJ standing behind him. His ginger hair tied into a bun, in a black turtleneck and orange pants. His green eyes seemed tired but watched Pickle with genuine concern.

"You uh... alright?"

Pickle scrambled to try to explain him squatting in front of the fridge, his eyes puffy and red and the muffled scream he made. Every second he hesitated, OJ looked at Pickle with increasing concern. Gotta think of something super quick and super convincing.

"Uhh.... I hit my head... on the fridge... yeahhhhhhhh..."

OJ raised a brow at him, not convinced a single bit.

"I happened to be walking by and I heard a bang and a shout. I guess it was you. So, what's really wrong?"

Damn it. OJ's not going to be fooled easily... Pickle though, and he hurriedly changed the subject.

"Yeah yeah. Well, what are you doing at..." he check his phone, "3:45 in the morning?"

OJ's soul seemed to have left his body a bit when asked this question. He closed his eyes and rubbed them, sighing deeply.

"Hotel manager isn't an easy job ok? I still have lots of paperwork to do, plus people to tend too."

"Oh wow... that sucks..."

OJ signed again, "Sure does. Especially when one of your closest friends refuses to explain why he's having a meltdown in front of the fridge at 3:45 AM."

Pickle made a face at OJ as he huffed, "I'm... I'm not having a meltdown!"

OJ rolled his eyes and sighed. Then he suddenly sat next to Pickle, his back resting against the kitchen sink base.

"Can't sleep?"

Pickle blinked at him in surprise, but answered softly, "Yeah..." 

He shifted uncomfortably, not sure whenever to tell OJ what was on his mind. If Pickle was being totally honest, sometimes he blamed OJ for Taco becoming so angry. If OJ didn't win, maybe Taco would still be with him right now. But he quickly shook off that malicious thought all the time. First place or not, Pickle was going to find out one way or another that Taco wasn't who he thought she was. It was probably for the better that Pickle knew who she really was before he got too close to her. Plus, it isn't OJ's fault at all, he won fair and square and didn't know Taco's true identity.

OJ must of noticed Pickle's internal turmoil and spoke softly, "You don't have to tell me anything if you don't feel comfortable. Just know I'm here for you."

Pickle smiled a bit, it was nice of OJ not to try to force his way into Pickle's personal problems, but have a nice bro to bro moment. "We used to hangout a lot more when we were on II... We should fix that... I think I should do that with everyone..."

OJ smiled and put a hand on Pickle's shoulder comfortingly, "I think that's a great idea."

Pickle and OJ just sat in front of the fridge for while until it hit 4 in the morning. OJ got up carefully, trying to not bump his head on anything.

"Well, I should go back to work..."

"What?" Pickle stared at OJ completely bemused. "But it's really late."

OJ sighed, "These paperwork isn't going to finish themselves."

Pickle stared at OJ, if only he was so put together and constantly busy, maybe he wouldn't worry so much about Taco. Well, maybe he would have to worry about grey hairs and constant stress. Before OJ could take a step further, Pickle piped up.

"Wait! Let me walk you to your room at least!"

OJ glanced at Pickle in a state of confusion, "Why?"

"Well because you're clumsy as heck and I feel like you'll break a leg going up the stairs in the dark."

OJ chuckled and rolled his eyes, "Just because I tumbled a lot in II, doesn't mean I'm fragile as glass."

"Yeah yeah, can it ginger." Pickle teased as he stood up, "I'm just making sure we don't lose our manager and the hotel plunges into chaos. You should be thanking me OJ."

OJ punched Pickle's chest softly, "Jerk."

Pickle laughed, but he really was happy that this small moment with OJ lifted his spirits. Even if it was for a little bit, Pickle appreciated every second with OJ. He should really try to spend time with the other residents at the hotel. Maybe they'll help with distracting his thoughts about Taco.

Pickle and OJ talked a bit as they walked to OJ's room. After helping OJ up from tripping over air, Pickle was able to escort a still laughing OJ to his room.

"How the hell do you trip over air dude?" Pickle questioned as OJ continued to laugh about the slip up.

"I'm telling you, I don't know!"

"Well next time, know! Cuz you almost took me down with you!" Pickle teased.

"I know, I know!" OJ laughed while wiping a tear from his eye, "Thanks for walking me though. I appreciate it Pickle."

Pickle felt himself turn a bit shy. He wasn't expecting a genuine thank you.

"Oh uhh, yeah! No problem."

OJ smiled, as he unlocked his door, "Well, I'll see you in the morning. Try to sleep alright?"

"Oh, uhmm. Yeah! I'll try. 'Night."

"Goodnight Pickle."

OJ closed the door behind him. Pickle heard the click of a key, OJ must of locked his door. Pickle just stood in front of OJ's door for a bit, trying to process everything. In the moment talking to OJ, it felt like everything was ok. But now, it was quiet.

Too quiet.

The silence of the night was too loud.

Chapter Text

The living room was full of chatter; Bomb was showing Paper the new plant seeds he bought for his greenhouse; Salt was complaining loudly that OJ wasn't ever around her; Pepper was trying to explain to Salt that OJ is actively avoiding her but to no avail. It was so easy for them to talk to each others. It flowed so naturally like a river flowing through a forest. It should be easy, natural to join in a conversation, especially with people you know. But for Pickle, these old friends seemed hard to talk to. He sat in his chair stiffy, unsure of whenever to approach anyone or have them approach him. He would like them to come talk to him first, but Pickle didn't want them to feel obligated to talk to him because he was a dumb loner. Conversations are so complicated.

Pickle sighed, his hands folded tightly. He felt terrible for being so disconnected with everyone. Before, it was non stop chatter but that was always with Taco. Would they talk to him without Taco? Pickle started to dig through his memories, his friends would talk to him whenever he was with her. Taco was such a outloud, eccentric, and lovable person (or at least everyone thought she was), it was fun to talk to her and by default, Pickle joined in on the conversation because he was always with Taco. Now that she's gone, is Pickle interesting to talk to anymore? Did they even care about the Taco issue anymore? Is Pickle the only one holding onto the memories of Taco and unable to move on? Maybe that's why everyone didn't want to talk to him. He reminded them all of who Taco truely was. Pickle felt like his heart was sinking lower and lower into the ground, he felt so stupid again. The waves of self hatred was  strong and threatned to drown him.

"Hey Pickle?"

Pickle snapped out of his delusions and looked up to see Paper and Bomb in front of him, looking at him with concern. The same look of concern OJ gave him last night.

Do I really look that pathetic? Pickle thought to himself, hating the amount of worry he was putting his friends through. But he bottled up those worries deep inside him and cracked a smile, "What's up boys?"

Bomb and Paper exchanged a quick look and then Paper spoke happily, "Well, Bomb here got his hands on some tulip seeds, you wanna come help us plant them?"

Pickle thought for a bit. He needed to talk to Bomb and Paper and everyone to distract him from... Taco... And maybe picking up a new hobby would be fun.

"Uhh sure!"

"Y-Y-Yes! Free l-labor!" Bomb cheered gleefully. He grabbed Pickle's hand and started dragging him outside to the greenhouse with Paper behind their tail. "I-I'm so e-e-excited!"

Pickle quickly realized how out of shape he was ever since Taco. Granted that Bomb was a fitness freak and liked to go on runs and the gym inside the hotel every other day, but Pickle could at least keep up in a run before. Right now, his lungs were fighting for their lives, screaming for more oxygen. Now that was another negative about himself he can add to his mental corkboard. Finally they reached the greenhouse as Pickle gasped for air, Bomb and Paper helped him inside into the glass house. After collecting his breath, Pickle gasped to see all the luscious greenery that surrounded him. Orchids, haworthias, aloes, cacti, bleeding hearts, hibiscus, even fruits like dragon fruits and yuzus. Pickle and Paper marveled at every shade of brilliant green and the blast of vibrant colors as Bomb stood proudly in the middle.

"L-L-Look at my p-pretties! Aren't t-t-they beautiful?"

Bomb smiled brightly, almost like a proud parent to the thousands of plants he lovingly nurtured. Paper sniffed one of the orchids nearby, "If only you can be as loving to me as you do your plants." he teased.

"B-Because I don't l-l-like you." Bomb teased back as he turned his back to start planting the tulip seeds. Paper made a playful, fake offended gasp as Bomb laughed. 

Great. Pickle cringed where he stood, I'm the third wheel. Bomb and Paper initially didn't like each others during season 1, but after OJ won II, they have seemed to have settled their differences. Now its almost constant back and forth of playful insults laced with flirting. It's completely unclear to everyone if Bomb and Paper were actually a couple or not, but they seem happy together.

Yeah. Happy...

Together...

Pickle felt a heavy pain in his chest. He needed an out for a bit. Thankfully, planting a couple of seeds didn't take too long so he, Bomb and Paper were able to head back to the hotel. OJ had texted them before they reached the door that he, Pepper and Salt were in the spa room. Salt had apparently cried at OJ's door to come "escort" her to the spa room and then begged him to stay in case she "drowns" despite OJ not knowing how to swim. 

OJ: Salt's driving me crazy and Pepper is staring daggers at me. Please help

OJ sent out the distress text so it was up to the plant boy, the gay lawyer and the depressed green guy to help him. When they reached thee spa room, OJ was casually sitting on a chair, calmly folding towels as Salt and Pepper gossiped in the bath with cucumbers in their eyes and wearing face masks.

"Yeah! P-P-Pool time!" Bomb ran into the changing room and then quickly ran out in swim shorts and a scuba mask and dived  into the bathtub, splashing an annoyed Salt and Pepper. Paper giggled at the scene unfolding as he took a seat next to OJ and started reading a newspaper on the table. Pickle stood around for a bit until joining Paper and OJ in the chairs.

He really tried his best to relax but, he couldn't shake off the feeling. The feeling of self hatred and saddness were so constant and painful, it really took everything in Pickle to keep it together. It was supposed to be easy. Talking was supposed to be easy. he's  Pickle, the easy going, lax, and always cracking a joke Pickle. Not down in the dumps, always frowning, emotionally turmoiled Pickle. Bomb and Paper only came up to him out of pity, or maybe they were annoyed with Pickle's ridiculous depression and wanted him to stop mopping around. He felt like throwing up, he felt so stupid. Why is one person, one singular person who he never has to contact or see or hear from ever, have to hurt him this bad? It was pathetic. Pickle wanted to cry right there but everyone around him was just having a good time. He didn't want to be the reason to bring everyone down with him just because he couldn't get over Taco.

"Just know that I'm here for you."

The words OJ spoke to Pickle last night suddenly echoed in his. Pickle quickly glanced at OJ, who caught his glance and smiled softly at him. Pickle blushed and quickly looked away. Frankly, OJ was really easy to talk to for Pickle for some reason. Maybe it's because he isn't in a relationship like Bomb and Paper so he doesn't feel jealous about being lonely or uncomfortable being the third wheel. And OJ didn't constant try to pry into his business like Salt or Pepper who were gossip freaks. He's like, normal. Or the most normal one out of everyone. Maybe, just maybe, another bro to bro talk is needed. Pickle worked up all the courage and spoke softly to OJ.

"OJ, can I talk to you for a minute?"

Chapter Text

The morning was horrible for Pickle. Before he could confide in OJ about his emotional state, OJ had found a bunch of people stuffed away in his closet, curotsey of MePhone. After that was an ecruciating trial that he had to sit through, then OJ had to host II for a bit and Picke dug through his old junk to find a picture of Taco which really helped with making him feel more of a pathetic man. Thankfully Knife was able to get out of that slump he was in but, things are easier said than done. Pickle's life isn't like a video game, he can't just pass through every level easily. After Knife had left, Pickle started feeling depressed again and the next thing he knew, he was staring at the ceiling instead of fixing his terrible sleep schedule.

"It really shouldn't be this hard..."

Pickle laid in his messy bed, blankets that were falling offthe bed, sheets coming undone, shirts and pants littered around the room. Just an overall terribly messy room that would o caused Soap to have a heart attack. it wasn't like Pickle was a messy person hough, he actually likes having a decently cleann room. But actually getting up and doing something felt extremely draining when it really shouldn't. So eventually, everything piled up and was now a mess. Staying in his room didn't make Pickle feel good either. it felt cramped, gross and suffocating. If ony he could crash somewhere else.

Crash somewhere else?

Wait a minute...

Pickle glanced at his phone and saw that it was 3 in the morning. Surely OJ was awake. Maybe doing something exremely mundane like folding towels or reading through complaints. But, would he be happy lettng an insomniac depressed weirdo in his room when he's trying to be productive? Maybe not, but Pickle just wanted any form of company so the next thing he knew, Pickle was quietly sneaking out of his room and tip toeing his way to OJ's room. After some stumbling and nearly losing an eye again, Pickle finally found his way to OJ's room. Pickle saw the light coming out of the crack of OJ's door.

Good, he's awake... Pickle mentally sighed as he knocked on the door as quietly as he could. A moment of silence. Suddenly Pickle felt anxious if he was doing the right thing, maybe seeing OJ at 3 in the morning is a bad idea. Maybe he'll open the door and close it in Pickle's face. Who would want to deal with an emotional wreck so late? Maybe he should turn back. Pickle turned his back and started walking slowly back to his room.

"Pickle?"

Pickle turned around to see OJ at the door. The light from his room spilling into the empty hallway as it almost blinded Pickle as his eyes had gotten used to the dark. But that was the last thing that was on Pickle's mind.

OJ peered at Pickle, confused. "Pickle? What are you doing outside my door? Is something wrong-"

OJ's words were quickly muffled as Pickle had come to hug him tightly, resting his head on top of the ginger's. OJ jumped at the suddenly gesture and was about to question Pickle's sudden affection until he felt Pickle slightly tremble while he embraced him tightly. A wave of empathy washed over the shorter man, so he didn't question anything, but hugged the other just as tight.

"Not feeling good?"

Pickle only responded with a small nod, still burying his head into OJ's. OJ stroked Pickle's hair gently, it's not often when Pickle asks for help, even if it wasn't verbal. OJ had gotten good at reading people after taking care of a lot of people in the hotel, so this wasn't too new to him. Well, maybe the tight hug was new and a bit flustering, but whatever Pickle needed, OJ wanted to make sure he got it. 

"Do you want to come inside?"

"Yeah..." Pickle's voice wavered dangerously. OJ felt a sting of sadness. Pickle was one of his closest friends, it really breaks his heart to see him so vulnerable. OJ then lead Pickle into his room carefully, holding onto his hand. Pickle scanned the new bright environment around him. A warm and inviting room, with a tidy and neat bed, big desk with a ridiculous pile of papers and a cute little panda plush in the corner of the bed. Not a single mess in sight, a compete 180 of Pickle's room. The cleanliness of the room felt inviting to Pickle as he took a seat on the side of OJ's bed as OJ brought him a cup of water and sat next to him.

"So, everything alright?"

Pickle took a quiet sip from his cup, "Yeah. Well, not really. I've been... thinking..."

"Bad thinking?"

"I guess so," Pickle sighed, "I don't know how to put it into words but, I didn't want to be alone in these thoughts. And I figured everyone else was asleep so I came to you."

"Well, I'm happy to help." OJ smiled, "You don't have to tell me anything, only if you want too. I'm glad you trust me when you're in a vulnerable position."

OJ out a hand on top of Pickle's and squeezed it comfortingly. It made Pickle's face turn hot but he looked away before OJ could make a comment. It felt nice though. It reminded Pickle of before he was burdened by the trauma Taco had left him.

Before he knew it, Pickle and OJ talked about many things; how OJ knew a lot of fun facts about pandas, Pickle considering playing the saxophone again, how Salt was giving OJ nightmares and the relationship between Bomb and Paper. They laughed and talked for so long, that when Pickle checked the time, it was 4:30 in the morning.

"Shoot, we should sleep soon."

"Oh, right! Hmm... Do you want to sleep in my bed so you're comfortable then? I can sleep on the floor so."

"Oh no!" Pickle immediately declined OJ's offer, "It's your room! I don't want to kick you out of your own bed."

OJ shushed Pickle by pressing a finger on Pickle's lips.

"It's really fine, you've been through enough for one day, might as well sleep comfy!"

Pickle blushed as OJ's finger was still firmly pressed on his lips. He dared not to utter a single word. OJ then removed his finger with a satisfied huff, and walked off to grab some clean white blankets for Pickle and a futon for himself to sleep on. Just as OJ handed Pickle the blankets, Pickle spoke softly.

"Actually, can you sleep with me?"

OJ frozen, his face building a hue of scarlet, "Huh?"

Pickle quicky reiterated, "No! Not like that but just, sleep next to me! I... I don't want to be alone..."

OJ seemed to have thought for a moment, his face still a blazed but then slowly nodded, "Uhm, sure. Why not? Just don't make it weird alright?" He chuckled softly, making it Pickle's turn to blush.

"Yeah yeah! I know. Don't get your hopes up OJ, I'm not into gingers!"

OJ let out a hearty laugh as he undid his ponytail, letting his long hair flow freely and sat at the opposite side of the bed. Pickle blushed and re thought everything that lead up to this moment but, it did feel nice to sleep with someone around again. It made things, less lonely. Pickle pulled the blanket over both of them as they took to the farthest corner of the the bed, backs facing each others.

"Uhmm... goodnight then." Pickle said gently. He heard a small laugh that made his heart do a mini flip.

"Goodnight Pickle..."

"Goodnight OJ..."

Falling asleep was much easier that night.

Chapter Text

Pickle had picked up a new routine. Wake up at around 10, eat food, play games, play the sax, interact, eat food again, stay up with OJ until 4, and then sleep. Sometimes, if he was too tired, he would sleep with OJ With distance of course, none of that, "cuddly" stuff. Pickle was not ready for, any romance yet, though he did have a soft spot for OJ. Maybe because it was they were both insomniacs and the company at night really helped them ignore the fact that they're probably overwhelmed with a ton of stuff. But being in the company of someone who you can genuinely forget about all the bad stuff plaguing your life whenever it be crazy stalkers or fake friends, it really helps with one's mental state.

Pickle was cleaning his saxaphone after doing a little gig after Cheesy's weekly stand up comedy routine. He wasn't the best at it but everyone usually clapped for him even trophy, who was a huge jerkwad. It made him feel good about himself, and slowly Pickle forgot how sad he used to be.

"T-T-There my sax b-boy!" Pickle felt a sudden hard slap on his back. He yelped and nearly dropped his saxaphone and quickly turn to see Bomb grinning at him from ear to ear.

"Man y-y-you killed it!" He squeezed Pickle tight, it felt his bones were going to break. "I-I'm proud of y-y-you Pickle!"

"Yeah.. Thanks Bomb!" Pickle said shyly as he rubbed his sides. "I was practicing a bit..."

Bomb smirked a slightly evil grin, "Oooooooh? W-W-With OJ?"

Pickle froze and stared at Bomb who was still smirking, "What?"

"Oh c-c-come on Pick. E-E-Everyone with eyes c-c-can tell y-you t-t-two have been spending a-a-a lot of time t-t-together lately!"

Pickle blushed, is it really that obvious to everyone? Sure he and OJ have been talking a lot more, well a lot more than they realize since they both talk at night as well. But it's because OJ's really easy to talk too, he's always trying to help everyone with their problems in the Hotel. Pickle was no different, he just takes the time to talk to gingers more often.

"Sooooooooooooo, t-t-tell me if you g-g-guys kissed yet!"

Pickle shoved the shorter man who was laughing uncontrollably, "In your dreams shorty."

Bomb was trying to get Pickle to spill some juicy secrets between him and OJ but Pickle was not budging one bit. In the midst of their argument, neither of them noticed a tall punk girl with a silver afro approach them. She shyly tapped Pickle on the shoulder, who jumped.

"What-"

"Pickle, I need to talk to you." It was Microphone.

Pickle stared at Microphone. He never really talked to her much. In fact, she always seemed to avoid him which kinda hurt him since Knife had mentioned before that he and Mic were pretty close. Any friends of Knife is a friend of Pickle's but Microphone avoided him as if he was the plague. But now she had approached him, very tentatively but still a start to a conversation.

Bomb immediately noticed that Microphone wanted to talk to Pickle solo, "Uhhhhhhhh.... I'm g-g-going to tear u-u-up the dance floor, byeeeeeeee!" as he skedaddled into the crowd.

Coward.

"Uhhhh, what's up Microphone?"

Microphone had a very serious expression, like she had something big to tell Pickle, but something that isn't very good. It made Pickle a bit uneasy if he was being completely honest, but before he could question her expression, Mic spoke hurriedly.

"I need to speak to you in private. Like right now."

Pickle stared at her, "Uhhh, okay what do you want to-"

She suddenly grabbed his arm and started dragging Pickle out of the room. Pickle frantically tried to pry his arm way from her but Mic's grip was tight and not willing to let go.

"Wait, Microphone what the heck are you-"

"Just come with me!" She nearly yelled at him. Pickle immediately shut up as he let himself get dragged by Microphone. Usually he would say something if he gets yelled by someone but this seemed very serious. As they went past many people, they passed by OJ who just came down to see everyone at the dance floor.

"Pickle? Microphone? Where are you-"

"Please not now!" Microphone yelled over her shoulder as she pushed past a shocked OJ. Pickle tried to hurriedly apologize to OJ but Microphone was dragging him too fast up the stairs up to the roof. Finally after climbing up what felt like an endless amount of stairs, Pickle and Microphone were greeted by the cool night breeze as Microphone kicked the roof door open. Thought the clouds were looming over them, little stars peeked it's way through, shining above them. Pickle took a moment to collect his breath, letting his lungs be filled by the fresh night air. He looked up to see Microphone standing in front of him, visibly tense, as if she had committed a heinous crime.

"So uhh, what's up-"

"I-I'm sorry."

Pickle stared at her dumbfounded, "Uh excuse me?"

Microphone didn't even look at Pickle in the eye. Before she could speak any further a familiar voice came from the distance.

No...

"Microphone? What took you so long to get here? I was waiting foreve-"

Taco stopped dead in her tracks as she emerged from the shadows of the night. She and Pickle locked eyes. No amount of words can describe what Pickle felt as Taco stood before him. But they were for sure very negative ones.

"What?"

Words failed Pickle as nothing could come out of his mouth. It was as if all the air he just breathed in disappeared instantly and he was now suffocating. He felt his legs tremble as his eyes stared into Taco's brown eyes. He never forgotten the color of her eyes, nor the color of her hair, not even the love he felt for her all those years ago. He cant let it out though. Not here. Not now. Pickle was just starting to forget about everything that made him feel like the stain on the earth. Why did this have to happen when he finally started to move on from her?

"You two needed to see each others." Microphone spoke softly, trying to fill the silence night sky with her voice, "You two need to heal from what happened, for a conclusion."

Taco scowled, "That's why you brought him here? I told you I needed to talk to you alone! About that night with the aliens! How could you trick me like this?"

"Trick you?"

Taco and Microphone stared at Pickle, who spoke with a wavering voice, threatening to break at any second. "How could she trick you? Are you... Are you serious?"

"Listen, Pickle I didn't mean to-"

"You never cared to see me..."

Taco tried to reason with him, "Pickle you don't understand but Microphone is different from you-"

"DO I REALLY MEAN THAT LITTLE TO YOU?!"

The moon's silent world was suddenly filled with screams of anguish. Pickle's wails echoed throughout the land as he felt his emotions he bottled up about Taco burst finally. "FOR TWO YEARS, YOU TRICKED ME AND LEFT ME WITH NOTHING BUT THE SHATTERED REMAINS OF OUR FRIENDSHIP. YOU, YOU DIDN'T EVEN WANT TO SEE ME. YOU ONLY WANTED TO SEE HER?"

Pickle jabbed a finger pointing towards Microphone who flinched, "Pickle please calm down-"

"CALM DOWN? CALM DOWN?!" Pickel was hysterically crying at this point. He felt like his heart was tearing apart again like it did all those years ago. It hurt so much, his chest swelled with pain and his throat felt torn from screaming. "I WASTED MY LOVE FOR YOU! I GAVE YOU MY FUCKING EVERYTHING! BECAUSE I... I WAS THE ONLY ONE WHO CARED FOR YOU! I JUST WANTED YOU TO... TO USE ME LIKE A FUCKING DOLL FOR YOUR SCHEMES. THEN YOU LEFT ME WITH THIS SHITTY FEELINGS AND YOU WANT TO COME BACK AND TELL ME THAT I NEED TO CALM DOWN?!"

Pickle's voice trembled so hard that he feared it would break completely but he continued to scream, "I THOUGHT THE WORLD OF YOU!..."

Taco stared at him, completely shocked but her expression seemed to have shown a slight twinge of regret and sorrow and pity. "Pickle I-"

"I thought the fucking world of you... I really... I really loved you..."

The tears that spilled from Pickle's face had already formed a small puddle on the floor below him. His vision blurred as the tears flowed nonstop. His voice trembled as he tried and failed to repress the pitiful wails that came out.

"I just wanted to help you..."

"Pickle please I-"

Before Taco could say anything further, Pickle took a step back and screamed "GET AWAY FROM ME! I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN!"

He turned and ran, kicking the roof door down and he dashed down the stairs, ignoring the calls of both Taco and Microphone as he ran as fast as he could. Pickle just wanted this pain in his chest to go away. A pain that threatened to swallow him whole into an abyss of neverending torture and sorrow. His tears spilled from his face as he stumbled. Pickle then tripped and smashed his face into the stairs, causing a gash to start bleeding uncontrollably. The blood mixed with Pickle's tears as his vision started to turn red from the blood gushing from his forehead. That didn't deter him from staggering down the stairs, the echos of blood dripping down filling the stairwell. He could faintly hear the screams from the rooftop, Microphone and Taco ust be yelling at each others but Pickle could care less. He just wanted to drown all this pain away and hide forever in his room again.

Finally Pickle made his way down the stairs, and made his way towards the kitchen, where Pepper, Salt, Trophy, and Cheesy were talking. They all stopped and froze as they saw the state Pickle was in. Salt nearly fainted as Pepper dropped her drink on the floor. Cheesy gasped as Trophy stared at Pickle in complete shock. Pickle didn't care about the stares though, he simply pushed past them all and grabbed a huge bottle of whiskey from the top shelf. Trophy grabbed Pickle's arm before he could walk away.

"Yo, what the fuck happened to you?"

"I fell down the stairs... It's nothing..." Pickle grumbled as he tried to shake Trophy off but he resisted.

"There's no way that's the only thing that happened. What the hell-"

"I SAID IT WAS NOTHING!!" Pickle screamed, inches away from Trophy's face. In shock, he had accidentally let go of Pickle's arm. The kitchen was completely silent.

Deadly silent.

"Leave me alone..." Pickle left them all in complete stunned silence as he stalked off, whiskey in hand and blood continuing to drip down his face. The drops of blood fell on the pristine carpet floor as Pickle staggered towards his room, drinking the whiskey he had taken from the kitchen straight from the bottle. After struggling with unlocking his door with blurred vision and being slightly under the influence, Pickle dragged his feet towards his bed, flopping into it, letting the blood from his head soak into his white sheets, turning it into a deep crimson. The pain Pickle felt was unbearable, both physical and emotional pain was threatening to tear him apart limb from limb. He wanted to feel numb, he needed to feel numb. Anything to take him away from the hell that was called the present. 

Pickle unscrewed the cap of his whiskey bottle and started downing it like there was no tomorrow. In fact, no tomorrow sounded really nice. If he could just sleep forever, how wonderful would be to never have to be in pain again. 

Just take me away from here... I never want to feel like this again...

Pickle's vision was starting to fade, probably it was because of the blood loss. His head spun and his head throbbed but it was starting to be replaced with a numbness. A sweet relief from the prison he called his life. Maybe in another life, Pickle wouldn't have to suffer so much. He wouldn't be betrayed by the people he cared so much about. Maybe he could be happy again.

Then a small knock echoed in his room that made Pickle's mind spin. He felt like he heard a voice. A soft voice. But he wasn't sure, Pickle felt his consciousness fading, so he could be hearing things. It was soft sounding but the knocking seemed to have gotten louder and more frantic? Did it matter to him anymore though? All Pickle felt was numb and it as nice to not feel things anymore. His eyes drooped as everything started to go black. But a sudden movement caught his eye as his vision started to go. Someone must have gotten inside his room. Oh well, it wasn't his problem anymore, just let him fade away.

Pickle could slightly feel the warmth of someone else's touch on his face, and a muffled shout.

Who's voice was that?

It wasn't Taco's. It wasn't Microphone's either. Who is that?

"Pickle!...pl.....st.....e......!"

If was the last voice and warm touch he was going to get, might as well embrace it as he weakly nuzzled his cheek on the gentle hand. He felt tears on his face. But it wasn't his. Who is that? Who did he hurt?

I'm sorry mystery person, for making you cry... But I'm so tired of being hurt over and over again...

And with that, everything went black....

Chapter Text

If afterlife was just an empty abyss of grey, than it's really boring. It wasn't a blinding light or a hazy darkness like one would assume, but this almost light warm gray that enveloped the room. It was neither scary or comforting, but it was just there. But it was kinda cold, like a dead person cold. So that's the afterlife maybe? Just grey, coldness and Pickle.

Pickle shivered a bit, wondering why he has to feel cold if he's mostly likely dead. And if this was the afterlife, one would think there would be other bitter souls like Pickle wandering about. But no. Only the echoes of Pickle's mind gave him company as the endless walls of white surrounded him. It nearly felt like one of his video game levels. Speaking of which, he never finished his games, not that it mattered because maybe he's dead.

"Huh... afterlife is kinda mid..."

Pickle looped around the grey abyss, to no where really, there wasn't a goal in mind or a place to get too. Just kinda, wandering, with not a care in a world. Just like how Pickle used to be. He stopped for a bit, reminiscing about season 1 of Inanimate Insanity. When he was carefree and definitely not pondering about the meaning of himself.

"Man, younger me would think I'm a loser..." Pickle chuckled darkly.

"Yeah, I kinda do."

Pickle spun around in shock to see himself. The younger version of himself from season 1. In his puffy green vest and jeans, shorter hair, scarless and looking at him with mild annoyance.

"W-What the hell?!" Pickle sputtered, "Wait, wait hold on, this is really weird! Cuz, you're... me!"

Season 1 Pickle fake gasped, " 'Oh you're me and I'm you, oooOoOOoOOo!~' Yeah no kidding genius."

Pickle stood in stunned silence, did he used to be this mean?  "Well, little me, it's weird to see your younger self in the afterlife."

S1 Pickle shrugged, "I think its weird to falling off stairs and splitting your head open but hey! Here you are."

"My head?" He placed a hand on his forehead and felt nothing. Frantically, he tired to find his wound, "Wait, where is it?"

"Someone's patching it up for you." S1 Pickle stared at Pickle with a small smile, "Someone who  actually cares about you. Well, I guess us but mainly you."

A small bit of warmth creeped inside Pickle's chest. A small one that could be overpowered by the freezing temperature of the grey room, yet it was comforting and gentle that Pickle didn't mind that he was freezing everywhere else.

"Someone... cares about me?"

S1 Pickle groaned loudly that caught Pickle off guard, "Yes of course you bozo! Seriously, I knew the whole Taco thing messed us up but damn! Here, look!"

S1 Pickle then rummaged through his pocket and shoved something into Pickle's hands. It was a picture frame. The frame that contained the picture of him and Taco on that picnic they went on years ago. A feeling of nostalgia and love flowed inside of Pickle, but was quickly replaced with hurt, betrayal and anger. 

"What's to look at? My stupid face who couldn't understand that Taco wasn't who she really was and was foolishly tricked like a dumb lover boy? Yeah. thanks younger me..." Pickle grumbled as he held onto the frame tightly with contempt.

"Look, you're too busy focused on the person inside that tiny frame." S1 Pickle said gently. He pulled out a picture from his other pocket and handled it carefully to Pickle. It was a picture that Soap took of the other Team Chicken Leg members and himself. Balloon, Bomb, Pepper, Salt and OJ. They looked so happy to be with Pickle. Genuinely happy.

Suddenly the grey room around the two Pickle blurred and swirled into a bunch of different colors. Bright colors painted the air of the room as it started to create itself into multiple images. And Pickle recognized every single picture. They were all from the hotel, and all of them had bright smiles. 

Memories, frozen in time, decorated in the skies like picture frames. Each and every one of them had Pickle in them, along with others who smiled at him. A memory of Cheesy and Bomb cheering on Pickle as he played his saxophone on stage. The Cherries showing him a paper puppet of himself that they made. Another of Pepper and Salt begging Pickle to be a model for their mock fashion show. There was a memory of Knife giving him advice as well. And another more recent one when OJ and Pickle were sharing coffee together for one of their many sleepless nights.

A beautiful collage of the memories he's created within the years. The overwhelming sorrow Pickle felt because of Taco had made him forget about the small things that made him happy with everyone else. Everyone else who cared about him as much as he did for them. All of the little things put together made the one big bad thing look so small and insignificant.

All the sudden, Pickle's vision started to blur. He placed a hand on his face and felt tears. A thousand tears seemed to pour out of Pickle's eyes as he sobbed. Why didn't he see everyone else? He chased after one person who would never give the same care back but he had everyone else who loved and cared for Pickle deeply. 

"There's a lot more people who care about you outside of the frame." S1 Pickle gently put a hand on Pickle's shoulder, "Maybe let them be part of your picture more?"

Pickle took one last good look at the smiling faces, frozen in time of the memories he made. "Yeah," Pickle rubbed some tears from his eyes as he smiled softly, "I think I should."

"Good!" S1 Pickle slapped Pickle in the back, "Okay, you're going to wake up now."

"Wait what?"

"Bye!"

S1 Pickle slapped Pickle out of nowhere, surprisingly knocking out Pickle cold as he stumbled back into the darkness again.

Chapter Text

Pickle woke up with a start as he immediately sat up. Trying to process what the heck had happened to him, he scanned the slightly unfamiliar area around him. The room he was in was clean and white. Curtains slightly open as a small breeze would slip past them, touching Pickle's face softly. The bed he as in was different than the ones in the hotel, with a slight mint color to them and lacking the smell of citrus. Then it started to hit Pickle that this was possibly a hospital bed based off the night gown he was in and the hospital equipment attached to his arm. The subtle beeping of the monitors echoed in the empty room. 

"Uhhhh...."

Suddenly the door to his room opened as Pickle nearly jumped out of his bed. OJ came in with a small basket of fruits that had a little card coming out of it. He looked immensely stressed and didn't even notice the fact that Pickle was staring right at him as he placed the basket on the table. He rubbed his tired eyes and was about to leave until Pickle piped up.

"Hey ginger, am I invisible to you or something?"

The ginger boy nearly slipped out of shock as he stammered, "What the fu- oh Pickle! You're awake!"

Pickle laughed as OJ tried to compose himself, "Yeah I am! So uhhh..." he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly as OJ sat down in the nearest chair to the bed, "How long was I out for?"

"Just for the night. Everyone was worried about you." OJ said softly, fiddling with his fingers nervously, "Salt came running to me that you looked like you came out of a slasher movie and screamed at Trophy. Knowing you, I knew something was wrong. You're not the type to yell at someone for no reason."

"To be totally fair, Trophy is very close to being yelled at by everyone but I see your point!" Pickle tried to joke with OJ, to get the nervousness out of him. OJ smiled slightly but still seemed upset. Well, can't really blame him in this situation.

An awkward silence started. Something Pickle didn't do well in so he struggled to find something to say but it was hard. He was about to joke with OJ again but he spoke first.

"Microphone told me what happened."

Well that's extra awkward.

Pickle had never told OJ or anyone in the hotel his inner turmoil about Taco. They would of definitely comforted him with open arms but Pickle was just, ashamed that he was feeling this way. Everyone else seemed to move on from Taco except him. He didn't want them to be dragged into his "woe is me" self hatred when they're all trying to live their happy lives. They don't deserve that at all. Pickle steeled himself for a lecture from OJ about his feelings as OJ inhaled deeply.

"I knew you were upset about Taco still. I never asked you about her because I didn't want to bring back, unnecessary memories, about her." Pickle saw OJ's knuckles turn white as he clasped his hands together. "Maybe on those nights we spent talking about nothing but stupid stuff, I should of asked you about how you felt. And maybe things could of been resolved. Or maybe things wouldn't have to end up with you almost dying from blood loss..."

Pickle felt blood drain from his face. The fact that he was so close to knocking on death's doorstep was, quite scary. But he couldn't imagine how much worry and pain he must of inflicted on everyone. He felt shame coursing through his veins as OJ continued softly.

"When everyone watched you leave on that ambulance, Paper, Bomb, Salt, Pepper and I were so scared that we were going to lose someone else. We lost Bow, intend to lose you as well." OJ steeled himself again as he continued, "We're all here for you whenever you need us. We don't want you to feel alone again."

Pickle felt his vision blur a bit as his voice wavered as he spoke, "I just felt so... So ashamed that I was still latching onto the old memories of Taco when I know that that wasn't even who she really was. I didn't want to drag you guys down because I cant get over her... It's just so... so pathetic you know? I shouldn't miss someone who hurt me so much... Isn't it stupid?"

"It's not stupid..." OJ held Pickle's hand gently, "It's fine to feel that way, it was a lot to process. It's never pathetic to feel and care so deeply. It shows how much of a kind person you are. You spent so much time with her, it's natural that you miss her. And it's okay to take time to heal from that. Take as long as you need, and we're all here for you."

"Is it really okay? What if I take years to get better? And maybe one day if I feel like I'm totally over her, something happens and I spiral back? What if-"

OJ pressed a firm finger on Pickle's lips to shush him, "Don't think about the 'what ifs.' It'll be okay. I'll be here for you when you need a moment to be vulnerable with your feeling. Okay?"

As OJ pulled his finger from Pickle's lips, Pickle felt the shame leaving from his veins, and instead filling with warmth. A gentle feeling, maybe healing? He wasn't sure, but it felt so comforting and Pickle didn't want it to leave. 

"Okay."

OJ smiled softly, "Good. I missed hearing your voice last night..."

Then, perhaps he did this instinctively, but OJ leaned forward and kissed Pickle on the cheek.

A stunned silence.

Pickle stared at OJ, a slight blush dusting across his face as OJ frantically stood up, face bright red, stammering and tripping over himself, "Oh! Sorry! I didn't- I didn't mean to- I just, well I was really worried about you and I- I'm sorry! I didn't mean to kiss you! Well, it's not like I don't want to kiss you- You're very handsome- I mean no! Wait no, I don't mean you're like ugly or anything, you're very attractive and kind and fun and uhhh..."

OJ's face flushed harder and harder with each second. His face was redder than his hair as he tried to hide his face in embarrassment. Pickle watched as the once composed and calm OJ turn into a hot mess in front of him in slight amusement and shock. He then started to laugh a bit.

"OJ, come over here. I'm not mad, just come here."

Still flushed with embarrassment, OJ slowly made his way over to Pickle, "You're not going to make fun of me are you?"

"No," Pickle then pulled OJ in close to have their lips meet. OJ blushed as Pickle chuckled softly, "I just wanted to taste your lips properly."

Chapter Text

It's been about a week and a half since Pickle and OJ started dating. Nobody else really knows that they're official though. OJ was too busy with hotel stuff to mention it to anyone, and Pickle was the "didn't ask, didn't tell" type. Well, another reason besides that was that a small part of him was afraid he'll get hurt again. Left and forgotten again. Pickle never wanted to feel as terrible and disgusting ever again.

OJ is different than Taco though. Certainly busier, but different. Like, he's actually listening. If Pickle asked or wanted to vent to him, no matter how busy OJ was, he would stop everything to listen to Pickle until he felt better again. He was sweet like that.

Tonight was also one of those nights where Pickle was scrolling through his phone while OJ's pen made subtle scratching sounds as they laced his paperwork with a delicate, shimmering ink. It was nice. Even though they were doing completely separate things, they found comfort in each other's silent company. 

After the 50th stupid dog video, Pickle got off from the couch and walked towards OJ who was still diligently filling in his paperwork. Pickle leaned over OJ's desk and skimmed at the paperwork.

"Hey ginger, you done reading all this mumbo jumbo yet?"

OJ laughed softly, "Almost, just a couple more papers to go. And, is there anything else you can call me besides 'ginger?'"

Pickle made a fake hurt pouty face, "You don't like my ever so loving and heartfelt nickname I have for you Mr. Orange Juice?"

"No, I'm saying that's it's not very creative, Cucumber Reject."

"Wow, rude much?" Pickle chuckled as OJ smiled and continued to write. A couple seconds past and Pickle decided to sit on the corner of OJ's desk as he waited. He checked his phone, close to 2 in the morning. Despite being together, OJ and Pickle still had horrible sleeping schedules. It's definitely bad for their health, but who cares? Well, actually, Pickle does care, for OJ's sanity's sake.

"Hey Juice Man, you should go to sleep. Like for real. It's nearly 2 AM dingus."

"Only 2? Thats too early to go to sleep." OJ dismissed without even looking up, still with pen in hand, scribbling away. Pickle huffed a bit.

"Well, Sour Boy, if you wanna be mentally stable to run the hotel in the morning, I suggest you sleep."

"Yeah, yeah in a bit..."

Pickle watched OJ continue to write and started prodding at OJ's head, "Orange Kool aid, go to sleep."

"I know, I'll go to sleep in a bit okay?"

"Citrus Lad."

"Stop calling me weird names."

"Decarbonated Orange Fanta."

"..."

"Tropicana."

"..."

"Sunny D-ingus."

"..."

"Minute Maid Man."

"..."

Pickle stared at OJ, who was still ignoring him, for a bit until he placed his hand under OJ's chin and lifted it so he would make eye contact with Pickle. He knew OJ wasn't expecting that since he noticed the faint hue of red blossoming in OJ's cheeks.

"OJ..." He said so softly, almost a gentle whisper. So quiet, yet with the unmistakable tones of deep caring and fondness. OJ couldn't tear his eyes from Pickle's forest green ones as he gulped a bit. Pickle was always very smooth and flirty in their relationship, each time he did something it made OJ fluttery and soft. He could feel his heart threatening to beat out of his chest, it especially didn't help when Pickle decided to rub his thumb on OJ's chin. If OJ could melt right there, he would. So he gave in.

"A-Alright alright... I'll go to sleep."

"Good." The brown haired then leaned down to give OJ a quick kiss then got off his desk. OJ stood up from his chair, shoving his paperwork into one of the drawers and came around the desk.

"We usually sleep pretty late, why sleep earlier today?"

"Hmmm, no reason at all..." Pickle ran his fingers through OJ's long ponytail. OJ smiled softly at him. He's seen that smile so many times, yet it always made Pickle's heart flutter. "Let's go to sleep alright?"

"Sure."

OJ went to the bathroom to brush his teeth and Pickle quickly changed into his pajamas, a comfy pair of shorts and a "wake up, eat, game, sleep, repeat" shirt. He had gotten it as a joke from Knife but he liked it so much, Pickle wore it as pajamas. The curly haired man snickered to himself the first time he wore this dumb shirt in front of everyone. He was such a nerd. After taking off his hair tie, Pickle stalked off towards the nearest mirror.

It's been a while since he's seen his own reflection. Pickle used to avoid looking at himself, looking at the shell of a person he had become always make him hate himself even more. It was a constant reminder of what he had become because of Taco. He remembered the dark bags under his eyes with his matted hair. The look of those dead, hollow green eyes had been engraved into Pickle's mind. The big ugly scar on his left eye, he hated that more than anything. The times Pickle tried to cover his face up with makeup were more than he could count but nothing worked. Only the scar looked back at him, and the bitter, lingering smell of lemons would blur his mind into a haze of self hatred. 

But now, he sees someone different, yet familiar. His eye bags were significantly better, the curls in Pickle's hair came back stronger and healthier. Even his skin seemed to be doing better, well that was the help of Salt and Pepper giving skincare help every two days. From what he used to look like months ago compared to now, it was a little weird, but it felt nice to see himself better.

He's not perfect. But it's him.

And that's good.

"Wearing that dorky shirt again?" A small chuckle came from behind him. OJ stood there, his hair lose and spilling over his shoulder, in comfortable yet sophisticated pajamas and a warm, gentle smile on his freckled face. 

"Well, I'm comfy so that's all that matters!" Pickle smiled back, tearing his gaze from the mirror. He walked over to the bathroom to brush his teeth as OJ leaned on the door.

"Well you're comfy and extremely dorky."

"Yourf jut jelous!" Pickle mumbled as he brushed his teeth. He heard OJ continue to laugh.

"You'll never catch me dead in a shirt like that."

"What about a graphic tee of a panda?" Pickle said after spitting out the toothpaste foam from his mouth. OJ went quiet. "Gotcha. You panda obsessed weirdo."

"Pandas are incredibly cute and interesting! But I would wear a tee of them, they're cuddly and cute and kinda dumb. Like you."

"Alright, that's it."

Pickle tackled OJ, picking him up and swing him around. He laughed out loud as OJ screamed. After a couple spins, Pickle started to feel pretty dizzy, he was sure OJ was too. Pickle tossed OJ on the bed. Before OJ could even have a moment of peace, Pickle laid on top of him, pinning him down.

"Pickle! You're heavy! Get off of me!" OJ was out of breath from laughing so much while Pickle continued to put his whole body weight on the shorter man.

"Say you're sorry."

Okay okay! I'm sorry! Now get off!" 

Pickle snuggled into OJ's neck, his hair tickling OJ slightly based on the soft giggles that escaped the orange man's lips. Pickle was going to get up but something about this felt very comfortable, like all his problems melted away. Pickle was close to falling asleep until he felt OJ's  fingers running through his curls.

"Sleepy?"

Pickle yawned as a response, earning him a little forehead kiss from OJ.

"I'm never sleepy this early but here I am..."

"Well you know, studies show that you sleep better with someone you love."

"I believe you." Pickle grabbed the blanket from the side of the bed and bundled himself and OJ under the soft blanket. Pickle rolled off OJ, but still burying his head in his neck, an  arm wrapped around his waist as well, pulling him close. "You make me incredibly sleepy. Especially when you're talking about stuff like taxes and hotel business..."

"Well that stuff makes me tired too." The freckled man softly cupped Pickle's face and kissed him. "I love you."

"I love you too... Thanks for helping me love myself again."

OJ smiled gently as he watched Pickle dooze off. After one last forehead kiss, OJ turned to turn off the lights, snuggled close with Pickle, and dozed off with him, still caressing his face.

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 I finally decided to finish this yayyyyyy

Don't  worry, I still make more fics in the future :) Hope you guys liked this one