Chapter Text
Knife and Pickle had been dating for a while at this point. Over a year. They were quite the happy couple. They did everything together, whether it was to go out on the town, or stay home playing games. They loved and cared about each other more than anything ever.
But for Knife, that seemed to change. He realized that hanging out with Pickle had become more of a chore than something he enjoyed doing.
He denied this for a while. But when he finally acknowledged the problem, he was distraught. How could he have fallen out of love with the man he has so deeply loved and cared about for so long.
Love was quite tricky.
Knife was beginning to learn that.
-
Knife stood there, looking at the Polaroid picture of him and Pickle taped onto the mirror mounted above his dresser. He ripped it off the mirror and looked at it. It was a picture of him and Pickle at one of those dingy restaurants downtown. He let out a large sigh. He turned the photo around. One the back it said ' one year, 2/4/23' he sighed, looking at the calendar. It was the 12th of June.
He sat the picture down on his dresser, which was littered with various hair products and miscellaneous items. His hand lingered on top of the photo. Almost as if he were going to regret it.
He shook his head.
He still cared deeply for his boyfriend, even if not romantically. Pickle didn't deserve fake love. He'd been through enough and Knife decided that he wanted him to know the truth. Since he deserved nothing but the truth.
Knife let out an anxious sigh as he took his hand off the photo. He walked over to his door.
He twisted the knob, and stepped out into the quiet halls of Hotel OJ.
He quietly closed the door behind him, it making a little *click* noise to give an audio cue that it was shut.
He hated people going through his room.
He slowly stepped down the stairs, hearing the 8-bit shooting noises and clicks of the controllers as he got down to the first floor.
There he saw Pickle and Bomb, the two boys playing video games together.
He came up from behind Pickle and leaned over the back of the couch.
"Hey," he spoke in his normal husky voice.
"Hi," Pickle looked up at him, smiling. Knife remembered how much he used to love his smile.
"H-hey Knife!" Bomb smiled, still focused on the video game on the screen.
"Hey uh, Pickle," he began. He was planning to tell him here but he didn't want to tell him in front of Bomb, so he continued and said, "can I speak to you? Alone?" He suggested.
Pickle nodded his head, and lifted himself from his spot on the couch. He looked over at Knife and gave him a look. Was that worry he saw in his eyes?
The two made their way into the kitchen. An awkward silence thick in the air. Knife leaned up against the kitchen counter.
"Hey," he began.
"So I wanted to talk to you about something," he began, tapping his fingers on the counter behind him.
"Yeah?" Pickle invited him to continue on, a slight worry in his tone of voice.
"I think us, isn't gonna really work out," Knife told him. There. He was done. He'd gotten it over with and-
"What.., why?" Pickle looked up at him, tears threatening to spill from his eyes.
"Uh," Knife began. He deserved to know the truth, so he continued, "I just. Fell out of love," he simply explained. The back of his neck grew hot from embarrassment. "This has been a thing for.." he trailed off.
"A few months now, I think?" He explained.
"Oh… oh.." Pickle looked down at the floor.
A sudden rage seemed to flood across Pickle's face as his eyes darted back up to Knife.
"What the fuck?" He said simply.
Knife looked up and gave him a shrug that said 'what's wrong.
"Why'd you hide it from me?" Pickle fumed.
"I.. I didn't want to. I just didn't have it in me to tell you unt-" Knife was cut off by Pickle.
"This is such bullshit! Why do I have to attract all the shitty people!" Pickle shouted, which scared Knife. He'd never seen Pickle get like this before.
"Shitty people? I'm trying to leave you, because I don't want to hurt you more by pretending I love you," Knife clenched his fists in anger.
"You are just like Taco," Pickle jabbed his pointer finger into Knife's chest.
"Constantly keeping things a secret…" Pickle hissed.
"Don't you DARE compare me to that asshole !" Knife roared. There was no way that this man was comparing him to Taco, who'd caused Pickle so much hurt and pain after the first season of that godforsaken reality show had concluded.
It hurt. To have the man he once loved compare him to one of the people who had wronged him the most.
"Maybe you should stop acting like her! You can't keep things from people!" Pickle screamed.
Could he just shut the hell up already? This was supposed to be quick and easy!
"I'M NOT ANYTHING LIKE HER," Knife screamed, grabbing Pickle by the shoulders and giving him a small shake.
Pickle jumped at the sudden contact.
All of a sudden, a "S-Stop! P-Please!" sounded from the kitchen entrance.
The two of them turned to see Bomb standing there in the doorway.
"W-will you two p-please stop?" Bomb pleaded with the two fighting boys.
Knife unhanded Pickle, shoving him backwards.
Rage clouded his mind and he was seeing nothing but red.
Knife stormed out of the kitchen, his footsteps heavy, his fists angrily clenched.
He passed back throught the living room and stomped up the stairs.
He swung open his door, then slamming it again right behind him.
He threw himself down on top of his bed. He took one of the pillows on his bed and screamed into it.
Knife had never been more enraged after an encounter before.
He'd never had any malicious intentions when he took his time to tell Pickle. He was just so scared to tell him.
He now understanded why.
There's no way Knife would've known about him reacting that way. He'd never acted like that before.
He threw his pillow aside and took deep breaths throught gritted teeth.
Then he heard a knock on the door.
"Come in," he growled.
The knob twisted as OJ shuffled into the room, hid eyes widened at the state of it. It was very far from clean. Clothes were strewn all over the floor and piled up in the doorway of the closet, which made it unable to be closed.
"Oh, erm.. Hey Knife," OJ greeted, shutting the door gently behind him with a soft *click*.
Knife looked up at OJ, sitting upright in his bed.
"I'm collecting rent," OJ said simply. "And you are a bit overdue.. Let me see," he trailed off, searching a notepad he had just pulled out of his pants pockets.
"You are one thousand dollars overdue, plus this month's which would leave you at 1,250," he informed Knife.
"Fuck, I dont have the money, can I get it to you next month?" Knife asked.
"No, I need it now, Knife," OJ pressed. "You said this last month, and the month before that. So on and so forth. At this point I'm losing money, and I'm better off kicking you out." OJ threatened. "So if your not going to pay, you better get packing," he said, putting his hands on his hips.
Was he really expecting Knife to pay up right here right now? Knife scoffed. He lifted himself out of the bed and walked over to OJ.
"Now, what about 'I don't have the money' do you not understand?" Knife muttered directly in OJ's face, through clenched teeth.
Before OJ was able to respond, Knife's anger got the best of him. He drove his fist into the side of OJ's head, catching him off guard.
"Knife, your so fucking done later," OJ groaned through the pain.
Knife smiles maliciously.
Knife grabbed OJ by the collar, and slammed him on the footboard of his bed, knocking the wind out of him.
Knife gripped his hands around OJ's neck as he desperately gasped and gurgled for air.
OJ desperately clawed at Knife's hands, hoping that would loosen the grip.
Knife tightened his grip around the man's neck, his hands quickly growing tired and sweaty.
After a while, the desperate man's arms fell limp, along with the sounds of his struggling.
Knife removed his hands away from the man's neck, slowly backing away, looking at what he'd just did.
Holy shit.
He just killed a man on complete impulse. That probably wasn't too good.