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"Goin' insane all by yourself, handsome?"
You feel your body tense up; it's almost a reflex at this point.
Papers are scattered around on the 'floor' of the Antivoid, half of them covered in stains of dubious origin (you don't touch those). The other half is in front of you in a somewhat neat pile. You're drawing.
Or, well, you were drawing before he came along.
Not feeling particularly eager, you grunt something incomprehensible in response and mentally cross your fingers, hoping that he'll get discouraged by your obvious lack of interest.
He sits down next to you and smiles.
All hope goes out the window immediately.
"Aw, c'mon, homie. Don't leave me hangin' now," he says, and you feel as if someone is grinding down your teeth with sandpaper. That would still be preferable to this.
"Yes, I'm going insane all by myself. I'd like to keep it that way, so if you don't mind..." You glare at him, because there's no exit to pointedly look at in the Antivoid. You sincerely hope he gets the hint.
"You're breakin' my heart, pal. And I don't even have one." Fresh doesn't budge and continues shamelessly making himself comfortable. You want to bash his skull in with something heavy. Multiple times.
Perhaps he'll go away if you ignore him for long enough. That only works once in a blue moon, though.
Today's not your lucky day, apparently, because he opens his mouth again.
"I've got a couple of questions for ya, 'cause I've heard some folks talkin', and didn't really get what they were sayin'. You're, like, hella smart, so I thought-"
Ah, he wants something from you. That's the only reason he would compliment you, right? (You try your hardest not to think about the possibility of him actually liking you in some way, because that would be worse than death.)
"-that I could get some answers from ya. Stop lookin' at me like you're about to ralph. So, question numero uno," he says, and makes a dramatic pause.
"What's CBT?"
God isn't real, clearly, because not even the cruelest deity would let this bastard live. You contemplate putting pencil shavings under your eyelids; maybe your agonized screaming will drive him away.
"... Cognitive behavioral therapy. Please leave me alone."
"Nah." The parasite grins. "Also, pretty sure you're wrong. They were talkin' about sex stuff."
The devil isn't real either, because if he were, Fresh would have a job in hell and be too busy to torment you.
What a wonderful dream.
"Then I have no idea. In fact, I got a lobotomy yesterday, so I doubt that I'll be able to answer anything. Please go away." Maybe begging will do the trick. Maybe the universe will have mercy.
He looks at your head as if he's actually checking for any signs of you being lobotomized. What a bastard.
"Aw, shucks. Well, we can be empty-headed together, amigo," Fresh says as he knocks at his skull in a weird display of camaraderie.
Should you switch to insults? That's usually the nuclear option (because the leech is mildly terrifying), but you're feeling worse than usual today, and talking with Fresh is always an experience only comparable to taking your brain out of your head, putting it on a table, repeatedly smashing it with a hammer, and then putting it back in.
"Anyway, 'nother question: what's peggin'?"
A lobotomy would be a blessing. Maybe you should visit some science-y Fell AU. Is there a Fell version of Handplates? Who knows. Not you.
"Please leave me alone. I'm begging you. Do you want me to grovel and kneel? Because I will, and it will be very awkward," you decide to say. Talking like that to someone who can easily kill you may not be the brightest idea, but you never claimed to be smart. Fresh claimed that, and he's basically the Antichrist, so you don't listen to him.
He contemplates for a second.
"Nah, it wouldn't suit ya. You're not dat kinda guy," he decides, and you wonder what kind of guy does he think you are.
"Pegging is a sex thing. Happy?" Some part of your mind desperately wants to explain all of the intricacies of it, graphically and with details. You ignore that part, because he'd censor most of it anyway.
"Duh, I know that! But what kind?" Fresh sounds slightly annoyed, which is a bit funny to you. Why does he make an effort to pretend to experience emotions around you of all people? You know about the parasite thing already.
"Not the kind that involves tapeworms, so you won't get to experience it, unfortunately."
The 'YOLO' on his glasses turns into a 'WHAT', as if being compared to a tapeworm offends him.
Or, you think that it offends him, until he starts laughing. Full-on giggling, wheezing (how does he do that with no lungs or windpipe?) and kicking his feet. What the fuck.
"Tapeworm? Dang, homie, that's the first time I've been called dat! Gotta give it to ya, real creative." He wipes off a non-existent tear. You think about breaking every joint in his body with the rock that you found in a random AU and now use as a paperweight.
"Really? I thought that Error would call you that at some point. He's good with the parasite-themed insults," you muse, thinking about your encounter with the guy. His insults were good, but his aim wasn't, because his eyes glitched over in the middle of the fight. That's honestly the only reason you survived. Now you wish you hadn't.
You've returned to drawing now. Fresh has been quiet for a couple of minutes: a rare, almost unheard-of occurrence. It's rather unnerving, but not as bad as the multiple times he took his shades off. You had nightmares after each time.
"Hey, broski. My radical, tubular, super-awesome pal. Would ya help get good ol' Inky bruh off my back if I did a lil' trollin' and, like. Killed a guy. Or made him my new host, or somethin'?"
Your relationship with Ink is Complicated with a capital 'C'. At first, when they found out that you were a Creator, they were ecstatic – a Creator! In their Universe! Who's not as evil as X-Gaster!
However, ever since you did Fresh a favor (the one that involved nicely asking the Protector not to hunt him down even though he intervened with the natural course of an AU, the one that made him cling to you like a leech) under the threat of becoming his new host, Ink has been convinced that the parasite has corrupted or manipulated you somehow. Which he kind of did? Manipulation was involved, sorta.
"I'm... not sure if they'll listen to me this time," you tell him, and immediately regret it, because you just gave up the only reason for Fresh not to do horrible shit to you.
He stares at you blankly.
You stare back, swallowing your saliva.
And when he smiles, you tense up more, because it looks genuine. You want to throw up a little bit.
"Well, it ain't much of a problem, broski. I'm sure that there are other ways ya could help me," he says, and you get a distinct feeling that you're about to make a deal with the devil, except the devil is a conman in the ugliest sunglasses you've ever seen.
"Uhm, how, exactly?" You cringe at the sound of your voice. That came out way more high-pitched and obviously fearful than you'd like it to.
"You're one of 'em Creators, silly. Just make a new AU! And a new host for me, obvs. Gettin' real tired of this one." Oof. Was that a thinly-veiled threat or just an unrelated comment?
Who are you trying to fool, yourself? It's obviously the former.
Ever since you got here, you've stopped making any Undertale-related content. No drawings, no writing, zilch. It would feel wrong to you to make a story when the characters would actually become real (especially if you gave them any conflict or made them suffer in some way). Like, you could just. Create someone. And then meet them.
That would be too much pressure and responsibility for you; it would raise a lot of uncomfortable moral questions, and besides, you weren't interested in playing God.
And now this guy is telling you to do just that.
"C'mon, help me out here. I'll even do somethin' for ya in return! Like the time I killed that one Fell Sans variant for you, y'know?" He says. As if that's common knowledge. Something he expects you to be aware of.
"You did what," you ask, but your tone is so flat it doesn't really sound like you're asking.
"Oh, y'know. The one that was botherin' ya after you visited his AU. Pretty sure that dude tried to get rid of ya, but I couldn't just let 'im do that, could I? Surprised that you didn't notice, my old host's teeth weren't all dat sharp. Though the gold tooth is still there, so maybe I look 'bout the same."
You giggle. Of course. Of course Fresh would do that. Why the fuck wouldn't he? Why do things the normal person way, where you try to talk some sense into someone, when you can just- fucking possess their body and-
You're laughing. Loudly. It's hysterical, really, how much you hate this guy.
The bastard has the audacity to look surprised.
"You- wow. Just wow. Fresh, you sure know how to make a guy smile." You grit your teeth.
He grins, and you hate the fact that it's genuine, like you just told him something pleasant. He really doesn't understand that there's anything wrong with the way he acts.
He really... doesn't understand that you're not happy with him. Oh.
Among the weird cocktail of emotions you're experiencing right now, pity seems to be the most prevalent. Because it's sad. He just can't get it. He probably never will.
"Yeah. I'll make you an AU, I suppose. Ink will probably be happy with me too," you say, and if it sounds like you're trying to convince yourself, that's because you are.
The text on Fresh's sunglasses changes into 'COOL'.
You want him dead. You want to help him.