Chapter Text
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"Hi, Uranus."
Uranus looks down at Earth, an eyebrow arched. "Hi, mate." He cleared his throat. Earth smiled, his hands behind his back. "Did you need something? I'm kind of.. Busy at the moment.." Uranus said, scratching at his neck with his free hand. The shorter male chuckled, shaking his head. "I just wanna offer you something.. Since you've been so down lately, y'know.. Do something nice, eh?" Ura' thought for a bit, looking Earth up and down. He sighed, moving so Earth could step in the house.
"You've got a nice place here, Uranus." Earth complimented, looking around the modern building. "Yeah, thanks." The taller man hummed, guiding the shorter towards the kitchen. They both went up to a counter, taking a seat in a chair. (It's one of those counters where chairs r around it ifykwim.) After a minute or two of silence, Earth decided to start conversation. "So, uh.. What have you been up to lately?" He leaned on his hand.
(Ew ew ew my old writing style EUGH.
this is where the 2k25 writing starts,)
Uranus blinked, his eyes stuck to his hands which were placed on the table. He couldn't tell Earth about his problems-- The two were hardly close. It was rare for them to be seen in the same space anyways.
Why was Earth even here. Is what he would've asked if he had no manners, instead, he responded--bland, and straight forward, "Nothing," Ura forced a small smile, hiding the self hatred he held for himself these past few days. "--nothing at all," He exhaled sharply. "Just been.. In my diary like usual."
Earth pursed his lips, eyes narrowing. "Really?" He hummed, fingers tapping against the marble. "Cause, to me, it seems like you're hiding something,"
That wasn't what Uranus expected, his pupils stuck to Earth's like the two had a stare off. "What makes you say that?" He sat up as straight as he could, feeling a pit form in his throat.
Earth tilted his head, smile crooked and oddly boyish. “Call it a friendly intuition,” he said, digging into the satchel he’d slung over his shoulder. “Also, you look like you haven’t slept in a week. That’s usually Neptune-level behavior.”
Uranus looked away, lips pressing into a firm line. That was too close to the truth.
“Anyway,” Earth continued cheerily, as if he hadn’t just hit a nerve, “I brought you something.” He pulled out a lumpy, over-wrapped sandwich, dropping it on the table with a triumphant grin. “Ta-da.”
Uranus stared at the sad, vaguely damp object. “What... is that.” He glanced at the item and Earth a few times, nose scrunched up.
“A sandwich,” Earth said, proud. “Made it myself. Extra mayo. And pickles. And... I think a piece of banana, but that part’s a surprise.”
Uranus blinked at him. “Why would you put—no. Never mind. Why are you giving me this?”
Earth leaned forward, his tone suddenly low and weirdly intense. “Because sandwiches solve things, Uranus. Like emotional instability. And cousin-related stress. Trust me, I’m practically a therapist.”
“That’s not how therapy works—”
“Eat the sandwich,” Earth said, his voice now urgent. His eyes were wide and disturbingly sincere. “It’s important.”
Uranus leaned back, visibly unsettled. “...You're freaking me out, mate.”
“Good,” Earth whispered. “That means it’s working.” He pushed the sandwich closer, the plastic wrap crinkling ominously.
Uranus looked between Earth and the sandwich, then muttered under his breath, “I’m going to regret this.”
Earth beamed. “Yes. But in, like, a healing way.”
As Uranus unwrapped the meal, he felt Earth's eyes bore into the back of his head. He held the sandwich up, examining it like it was a science experiment. The bread was... soggy. And was that... jelly? Next to pickles?
Still, Earth was staring at him like this moment was sacred. And frankly, Uranus didn’t have the energy to argue. He took a cautious bite.
Pause.
Chew.
Pause.
He blinked, shoulders relaxing slightly. “...This is... kinda decent,” he admitted, as if each word was pulling a tooth. “Weird. But decent.”
Earth lit up like a Christmas tree. “Right? It’s got that homemade trauma flavor.”
“That’s not comforting.”
Earth ignored him, chin propped on his hands as he leaned in, eyes glittering. “Soooooo,” he sang. “Tell me about Neptune.”
Uranus narrowed his eyes. “Why..”
“Just wondering! Curious. Cuz you’ve been all mopey and silent and writing in that weird little leather book like a Victorian widow." He inhaled. "So, Neptune.”
Uranus sighed. He took another bite. Damn it, it really was kind of good.
“What about him?” he muttered, mouth half-full.
Earth squinted. “Would you say Neptune’s more of a ‘burn your house down while crying’ kind of guy, or a ‘stare at the wall for six hours then vanish into the woods’ type?”
Uranus choked. “What kind of question is that?!”
“A psychological one,” Earth said, very seriously.
Uranus hesitated. Looked at the table. Then mumbled, “...Second one. Definitely the wall-and-woods thing.”
Earth nodded solemnly, like this confirmed a personal theory. “Mm. Yep. I figured. He gives off cryptid energy. Like he’s seen God and got bored halfway through.”
Uranus rubbed his temple. “Can we not diagnose my cousin while I’m eating banana-mayo-pickle-jelly-beef sadness between bread?”
Earth patted his arm. “No promises, but hey—you’re talking. That’s progress.”
Uranus grunted. “You’re insane.”
“And you’re healing. Eat more sandwich.”
Uranus huffed, chuckling a bit before continuing the slice of the meal he had. He chewed slowly, suspicious of how the sandwich somehow improved the more he ate it. He blamed the meat. They had a strong personality.
Earth hadn’t stopped watching him like some over-invested life coach, elbows on the table and eyes unblinking. “Okay, so follow-up question,” he began, twirling a spoon like a pen. “Do you think Neptune would win in a fistfight against, say... the concept of emotional repression?”
Uranus paused mid-bite. “What?”
“Like, if repression was a guy. Full suit, sunglasses, probably named Greg. Would Neptune beat him up?”
Uranus stared at him. “That’s the dumbest question I’ve ever—”
He stopped. Chewed thoughtfully. “...Yes. But only after repressing the urge to do so for five years and then snapping all at once.”
Earth snapped his fingers. “I knew it! Repression slayer," He whistled. "I respect that.”
Uranus shook his head. “You are so bizarre.”
“Thank you.”
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
Earth's eye twitched and a half-assed laugh left his mouth. “You know, you’re not as gloomy when you're forced to eat a cursed sandwich and psychoanalyze your cousin.”
Uranus grunted. “That says more about you than it does about me.”
“Oh, absolutely,” Earth said cheerfully. “But let’s get to the root of your pain and suffering while we’re here." He scooted his chair closer. "When did Neptune start getting weird on you?”
Uranus frowned, sandwich lowering slightly. “...You mean like ‘being quiet’ weird or like ‘talking to moonlight’ weird?”
Earth gasped. “He talks to the moonlight?!”
Uranus pinched the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t say that.”
Earth was already pulling out a tiny notebook. “You basically did.”
Uranus groaned. “Why are you like this?”
“Emotional damage and great skin.”
Ura scoffed. "Look, I get you're probably here to make me feel better but-" He sighed. "I just miss Neptune, okay? And, talking about him won't make me feel any good." He paused on eating, just staring at the half eaten sandwich. "We weren't close either.." He bit his lip.
Earth folded his arms, eyes narrowed. "Well," He snorted. "You're closer to him more than ever now."
Uranus arched a brow. "What do you.. What do you mean?" He squinted at the man.
Earth cackled, pinching the bridge of his nose. "What do you think is in that sandwich?"
.
.
.
Uranus stared at the meal with confusion. Then his eyes widened as it clicked in his head. The beef. The weird jelly. The random items shoved in so it didn't taste too much like something strange.
Oh my god.
Uranus nearly fell back, a strangled gasp leaving his lips as he stood up from the chair, eyes flicking from the sandwich and Earth.
His eyes flashed with multiple emotions. Hurt-- Sadness-- Guilt-- Betrayal, even.
"No--" His palm clasped over his mouth. His words tasted like bile, and he felt a gag escape his throat. He shook his head, eyebrows furrowed. "No- No, no- Fuck! No!"
Tears didn't take too long to make their way to his eyes, already streaming down the moment he took a few steps back. Uranus could hear Earth laugh and make fun of him.
He turned on his heel, limping to the bathroom as quickly as he could. This wasn't happening-- This couldn't be happening.
He just ate his cousin.
And enjoyed it.
"Fff-MPH-" Uranus hurled, his body hunched over the toilet. He spat up everything he got down previously.
This was too much. Too unbearable. His throat burned, and salty water wouldn't seize their way from spilling out his eyes. How could this happen? Why..
why
why
why
why
why
why
why
Why.
WHY.
(I made a mistake. I spelt it so much it doesn't even look like a word anymore.)
The man grunted, struggling to stand up properly. His eyes were red, puffy and he looked absolutely drained. He had vomited so much things that weren't even meant to come up did.
Gods, he was disgusting.
He is disgusting.
He's terrible. Eating a sandwich from someone you hardly know, and boom turns out it's your missing cousin? Please, get a brain Uranus. Start using yours for once.
He wiped his mouth with the sink water, huffing out a small, short sob.
Uranus dragged his feet across the floor, every step heavy like his bones were soaked in cement. His eyes were glassy, red at the edges, and his face looked like it had forgotten how to hold anything but exhaustion. He made it to the dining room, barely, and stood there for a long moment, staring at the half-eaten sandwich left forgotten on the table-- Earth had left, of course.
It was nothing. Just bread, just food. But, the sight of it cracked something in him.
His shoulders shook first. Then the tears came faster, heavier, silent at first, then with soft, hiccupping sobs. He let out a shaky breath, one hand gripping the back of a chair like it was the only thing keeping him upright. He didn’t eat. Couldn’t.
He turned away, stumbling like a ghost to the living room, knees buckling as he sank down onto the floor. No blanket. No pillow. Just the cold floor and his arms wrapping around himself like a desperate shield. He curled up, tight as he could, and cried. Loud, aching sobs that came from somewhere deep, some place words couldn’t reach.
And he stayed like that. For a long time.
So long, night fell.
The house was quiet. The kind of quiet that presses in on your chest and makes the shadows feel heavier than they should.
Titania padded out from her room, hopping down the stairs quickly. She was barefoot, her hoodie sleeves hanging past her hands. She was on her way to grab a drink, not expecting to see him like that—her father, Uranus, curled up on the living room floor like the sadness had folded him in half.
She paused in the hallway, staring. Normally, she'd just… walk past. Let him cry or whatever. He was always dramatic, always tired, always something. But tonight… something tugged at her. Guilt? Sympathy? She didn't know. It was small and weird and annoying.
But it was enough.
She turned silently into the kitchen, flipped the kettle on. Soon, it whistled quietly as she stared blankly at the counter. She poured the water into his chipped mug—the one with the iconic phrase on it—and added the instant coffee he always drank even though he claimed he hated it.
Then she walked over to him.
Uranus hadn’t noticed her yet. His back rose and fell in uneven rhythm, face buried in his arms. She didn’t kneel or ask him anything. She just set the mug on the table beside the couch.
“…I made you coffee,” she mumbled, eyes darting anywhere but him. “It’s… not hot-hot. Just drinkable.”
She lingered for a beat, shifting her weight.
“…Good night, Uranus,” she said, softer this time. Then she turned, disappearing down the hall without waiting for a response.
But the coffee stayed warm, and somehow, so did the space she left behind.
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