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Not your fault

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“Hey, Lyssa.”

 

“Hey (y/n)! It’s been ages! Like... weeks. Why’re you calling now?”

 

“I just wanted to catch up... been going through some stuff lately. How is everyone?”

 

“We’re managing well.”

 

“How’s... how’s Sans doing?”

 

“... Uh. Is that a joke?”

 

“... What?”

 

“... (y/n)... Did you not hear?”

 

...

 

“Hear what? What happened?”

 

“... Oh fuck. I don’t know how to break it to you, honey. I thought you would’ve known first. Sans... he...”

 

“... What?”

 

“He killed himself yesterday.”

 

“...”

 

“I d-”

 

You hung up immediately, a sick, numbing, all-encompassing dread taking over your entire body. The tips of your fingers and toes felt fuzzy, your stomach twisting and throat closing up.

 

...

 

What?!

 

...

 

It couldn't be true. No. It couldn't.

 

You searched through your contacts, and saw his name, and the smiling picture of him. You’d blocked his number after... He didn’t take the break up too well. He took it so badly, in fact, that when you’d said you wanted to break up he’d gone into utter hysterics, grabbing you and screaming that you couldn’t leave him after everything that happened.

 

It was terrifying. If Papyrus hadn’t stepped in and knocked him out, you fear you would never have left that house.

 

You could never forget the look in Sans’s eyelights the split second before he passed out. The shock, the knowledge that he was about to pass out, the hurt and pain and disbelief and the most terrified expression you’d ever seen as he clung to the fabric of your shirt like it was all he had left.

 

...

 

It hurt your soul.

 

Numb, shaking, you unblocked his number and took a look at all the messages you’d never received.

 

...

 

405 texts. 92 voicemails.

 

...

 

You’d only been gone two months.

 

There was at least four messages for every day you’d been gone... and three voicemails. You felt so sick... You looked at the texts first.

 

- come back

- where are you

- sweetheart please

- come back i need to see you i dont know where you are please

- i love you

- don’t leave me like this

- did you block me???

- i love you

- wake up

- answer me

- i left you a voicemail please respond

- i want to hold you

- i need to hear your voice

- look i know you broke up with me so you think it didnt work out but jjust tell me what i did wrong and i can fix it and you can come back and well be okay

- please

- are you there??

- i still have one of your shirts

- come pick it up

- (y/n)???

 

That was just one second of the literal hundreds of texts he’d sent. They were hysterical, hopeful, like he believed that if he texted enough, you’d come back.

 

Each one was like a needle in your heart and you covered your mouth, sickening feeling growing stronger.

 

...

 

You scrolled down to the most recent text.

 

... There’d been about a day, between the third and second-to-last text, and the most recent one... which was for 8.12pm yesterday.

 

The third to last one was his longest.

 

- im sorry i scared you. i’m sorry for whatever i did wrong, i know i shouldnt spam you like this, i know youre not even listening but i just need to feel you here. i havent slept in a month and i cant feel my soul in my chest anymore. i dont know what to do. i feel so empty. i know youll never get these so its pathertic and useless to send them but i cant help it i just want you back here. i cant sleep, i cant eat without you here, i can barely breathe. im pathetic, i know. is that why you left me? because im pathetic? i couldve fixed that. i promise i couldve been better if youd stayed, we could still be happy. we can be just friends, you know, i wouldnt mind that. would you want to be just friends? id never push anything on you, we could be 100% platonic for the rest of our lives. and i know its selfish of me but maybe one day youd love me back again, right?? call me. anything. i need to hear your voice. or just text me idec, please text me. i love you. i love you so much i promise, i love you with all my fucked up soul please call me

 

...

 

A day long break.

 

Then...

 

...

 

- youre not coming back, are you?

 

It was so small, you could practically hear his realisation.

 

... And then...

 

... A video.

 

It was the two of you at Disneyland, when he’d taken a video instead of a photo. You... you thought he’d deleted that. You couldn’t even play it... you knew you’d break down into tears. You were both smiling at the camera.

 

...

 

You quitted texts, and went to voicemails, holding the phone to your ear.

 

...

 

Most of them were hysterical crying and panicked breathing between cold, empty silence as he suffered through his panic attack alone, occasionally punctuated by a broken beg for you to come back. Promise after promise after promise that’d he be better, he’d be so much better, he’d make sure you know you were loved every second of the day, nothing would ever make you unhappy again, please call, please call, please call. He was lost and alone and so confused as to why you’d stopped loving him but he promised more that if you told him what it was he’d change himself.

 

It seemed to switch, in a back and forth. He’d ramble, ramble softly for hours about everything that was happening around him, like you were just on a trip and he had to fill you in on what was going on before you got back. He shifted between denial and hysterics, on the flip of a coin, sometimes in the same day, sometimes in the same voicemail, his calm persona cracking and his intense heaving and sobbing taking over as he just begged in the most desperate, pathetic voice you’d ever heard.

 

You listened for hours, tears streaming down your face and chest so tight you could hardly breathe.

 

“come back.”

 

“i’m sorry, i’m so sorry. i’m sorry i’m sorry i’m sorry i’m sorry-”

 

“w-was i not good enough? was i too clingy? did... did you not feel loved? i didn’t mean it. whatever it was i didn’t mean it, i’ll fix it, i swear, i’ll change, i can change, i can-”

 

“i sent you that picture of us in the cafe. do you remember that? when you spilled your coffee all over me? that was hilarious. i try to go there in case i can see you but sometimes it’s too hard to get out of bed, ahah.

...

please call me back.”

 

“please answer the phone!”

 

“where are you!? why won’t you answer?! i’m trying, can’t you see i’m trying!? i just want to hear your voice, you don’t even have to look at me! you don’t have to see me, you don’t have to touch me, i just need to hear you, please, please, why are you doing this!?! we can be just friends, you don’t need to cut yourself out entirely we can still make something work that works for the both of us, call me!”

 

“... hey. sorry about the last one. you know what i’m like at 3am, heh, i get a bit...

...

... anyway, just... call me back if you get this.”

 

Then...

 

The last one.

 

You were already sobbing, the desperation and panic and brokenness of his voice hurting you in ways you’d never been hurt before.

 

If you’d heard these, you would’ve called him. You would’ve spoken to him...

 

...

 

You listened to the last voicemail.

 

It was the same time as the video he sent.

 

“... heya.” Fuck, it was so soft and gentle, you started crying more. It was the calmest you’d ever heard him. “... it’s me. you... you probably won’t get this until it’s too late. knowing you, you’ll hear about what happened and unblock me so you could listen to all the voicemails i left. i know you’ve blocked me, because you’re not the kind of person who could ever listen to me crying the way i did and still ignore me, hah.”

 

You nearly laughed through your crying.

 

“i just...” A small pause. You could all but see him, sitting on his bed in the dark, alone, with nothing but his phone. “i need you to know it’s not your fault . none of it is. you did what any normal person would do if their ex started screaming at them and trying to keep them in the house when they mentioned breaking up. i still don’t know what i did that made you want to leave, but... i can’t stand the thought of you living the rest of your life feeling like it was your fault i did this. because it’s not.”

 

There was shuffling, as he laid down on his bed, probably looking at the ceiling.

 

“i’m crazy, sweetheart. crazy and way too attached. it’s not your fault you were so kind that you were the first person to love me properly in my whole life. i guess... i just couldn’t wrap my head around losing that love. i still can’t. i tried, baby, i tried to get over you and keep going. you did everything right... you cut off all contact, you moved elsewhere, so there was no way for me to renew my affections if they died.”

 

A small pause.

 

“but i just can’t let go. ” His voice was breaking. “i can’t get you out of my head . you’re everywhere. i can’t stop hearing you laughing or feeling you holding me back or dreaming about you coming home and being here, or hoping that this is all just some massive elaborate prank. nothing will stop hurting. n-nothing will stop hurting, sweetheart.

 

A watery, harrowed laugh.

 

“... maybe if we’d met a few months later, and i’d had some help and coping methods, i would’ve been able to get over you.” A deep breath. “but it’s just... such bad universal timing. i never bothered to make coping methods that weren’t you because you were just such a damn good coping method. and now i’m just... stuck. maybe if i’d been human, maybe if i’d been any other monster, maybe if i’d been better, maybe if i hadn’t been a pathetic piece of fucked up garbage who can’t even kill himself without making everyone feel bad.”

 

...

 

“i’m so tired, sweetheart.” He croaked. “i’m so tired. i just want you back. i just want what we had.”

 

...

 

“i love you. so much.” Chuckle. “too much, probably.”

 

...

 

“i love you. maybe we’ll see each other if you somehow end up in hell. swing by, i’ll getcha a free drink.”

 

...

 

“... it’s not your fault.”

 

...

 

Beep.