Work Text:
Impulse should not be holding what he's holding.
He told Bdubs he had hid it away, stuffed the nuclear weapon he found in the mines deep in a secret chest where nobody would ever find it. Where they would never see it again, either. Ever.
Because that's what it was. A nuclear weapon. A doomsday device. Something absolutely no person on that server should even catch a glimpse of, let alone hold.
Not much was banned in these horrific games. Whatever sick force had stuck all of them in this world let a lot slide, hell, it even encouraged things that no one would ever find okay or savory or redeemable. The rules of the server were just as twisted as whoever watched over it all. But that's how the game was meant to be played, wasn't it? In a sick and twisted sort of way.
It was such a silly thing to forbid, he had thought. Impulse had held worse, in a world before this one. Something that shone brighter than the thing in his hands ever could. Something that was much warmer and electric to the touch. Something that, to be honest, defied the laws of… well… everything.
But Impulse did know, deep down, why it wasn't allowed. Not for its life saving properties, but for its life altering ones. Its life ending ones.
Not his life. Just the one he had built with Bdubs.
It would cut the strings of the soulbound, they had been warned. Sever the ties that held them together. Split one set of hearts back into two.
What Impulse held in his hands was forbidden. It could destroy the very foundation of the world he had found himself in. It alone in its golden glory could break the game itself.
Impulse didn't even know that was possible. To break whatever sick game he was forced to play. To get out. To escape.
Not that it could end the game, exactly. Even if he wished more than anything that it was his ticket out of this world, his one way flight back to home, his real home. Not the mid century modern house he was stuck in, it's chilling spruce and snow walls.
It could only end his soulbound. Split him back into his own person again. Break whatever tender monstrosity him and Bdubs had become.
Monstrosity… what an ugly word…
No, no, no, they weren't a monstrosity, Impulse tried to tell himself. They were a masterpiece! Something only the universe itself could've brought together and made him see the beauty of! What happened to them was a blessing… a second chance at happiness. The perfect opportunity for Impulse to have the life he always wanted with him. A domestic, sweet, married life.
(But did Impulse ever really want this? Sometimes he asks himself that. Sometimes he doesn't like the answer.)
He would never throw that all away. Never ever. Not for anything or anyone, absolutely not.
He loved Bdubs. He loved their home and their horses and their home-wrecking. He loved it all, every little bit of it. Even the imperfections and the quirks. Even the things he shouldn't love.
That's why they had hidden it away. Because the thought alone of becoming anything less than soulmates should've disgusted them both. They were meant to be together, quite literally tethered to one another by the universe or God or whatever. Nothing was going to tear them apart. Nothing at all.
Especially not some stupid golden apple.
So despite Impulse's strange fascination with what he'd found during his mining trip for resources, for the very gold and redstone he used to make his darling husband's clock… he gave it up. He tucked it far away. He never saw at it again. Even when the curiosity kept him up at night, stuck awake next to his soulmate who was sleeping soundly, Impulse kept to himself. He kept his hands to himself, too. He never dared to touch it ever again.
Well… until now, he supposes.
He doesn't know why he grabbed it, honestly. He was organizing their secret chest when Bdubs had come home, hiding away some extra ores and other contraband. He was welcomed with a hug from behind and a kiss on the cheek as always, some mindless praise dripping from his husband's lips as it always did. Impulse was always so diligent, he might've said. Always on top of every little thing, taking care of it all like he always did.
Impulse welcomed the compliments, even if they sounded a little itchy and odd in his ears. He had learned to stop denying the things Bdubs said, despite how often praise made him squirm, especially when it came from him. Because then Bdubs would start calling him things, like silly and stubborn and stupid, and convince him to take the kind words anyways. Even if they didn't feel so kind after that.
It was always such a harmless thing to get weird over, but Impulse got weird, anyways. So in order to not get weird, he simply smiled and nodded. Because maybe he was diligent, even if it sounded a little less serious coming from Bdubs. Bdubs was just like that sometimes. Unserious. Stretching things so far they began to feel fake.
Impulse asked where he'd been, said how he was a little surprised to come home to an empty house save for the horses trotting around. He didn't have to turn around to sense Bdubs's casual shrug, his voice gave it all away.
He'd been with Etho. Hanging out at the Relation Ship with him and Joel and Cleo. He didn't fail to let Impulse know just how much fun he had, how Joel is so entertaining when he gets riled up and how Cleo and Etho's laughs are the sweetest things he's ever heard. He didn't tell Impulse he wished he was there. Impulse kicked himself internally for thinking he would.
It was then that maybe the clock's never-ending ticking began to get a little too loud, and maybe Bdubs's lips were smacking a little too much, and maybe his footsteps were a little too booming. It felt like the house was shaking with every one, like the roof would collapse and the walls would cave in. It's silly, Impulse thinks, how little things like that make the world seem like it's ending.
He was smart enough to get out and get some air before it got bad, before he snapped and said something he didn't mean. Or something he did. It's worse when it's that.
He told Bdubs he forgot something and needed to go out to grab it, because if he told Bdubs he needed some time alone, then Bdubs would frown and ask why and ask what he did wrong because he had to have done something wrong for Impulse to want some time apart. And Impulse knows that's a trap, whether Bdubs means for it to be or not. It never ends well. Ever.
So he lied, stuffed his hands into his pockets, and walked out the door. And his face twitched and spasmed a little as he tried to rid his cheek of where lips used to be. Maybe his hand came up to wipe at the still flushed flesh as his lip quivered. Maybe it fell to his side, defeated, when the feeling of the kiss remained, etched into his skin like a scar.
He didn't know where he was going or where he wanted to be. But now, he finds himself heading for a wooded area, somewhere where the trees can hide him away. Where he can stow away behind their trunks and find solace beneath their branches and leaves.
The grass is soft when he sits down. Itchy, he thinks with a grimace as one of his hands splays over it, but soft. He lets himself rest against an oak tree, careful as his head lolls back, the rough, rigid bark digging into his scalp and the skin beneath his shirt. He doesn't have it in himself to care too much. It's a little grounding, the slight sting. He wonders if Bdubs can feel it…
The thought fills him with a brief excitement before he swallows it down, head giving a shallow shake all on its own. He doesn't want Bdubs to feel it. The pain. That would just be rude and irresponsible and wrong. He could never wish that upon his soulmate! Never.
Impulse readjusts himself. Less for his sake and more for Bdubs's. Just in case his husband can even feel a semblance of the discomfort echoing through him.
In the midst of his squirming, Impulse feels something else dig into him. It pokes against his upper thigh, pushing against him almost fervently. And it's… warm. Like a faint heat is radiating through the fabric of his shorts.
He reaches down, patting himself until he finds his right pocket, palm pressing down on something round. Strange. He thought he had emptied his pockets all the way when he'd gotten home earlier.
His fingers slip inside half haphazardly, clasping around something smooth and warm and—
Impulse's hand jerks back when he feels a shock ring through him, traveling up his fingers to his shoulder, electricity bubbling beneath his skin.
He shakes his arm, desperate to get the feeling out as confusion paints his face, lips tugged about in some sort of expression between disgruntled and concerned. Had he left some redstone in his pocket? There was nothing to power it, though… there was no reason for it to send a spark through him like that…
With much more caution this time, Impulse reaches back down, gingerly taking hold of whatever was in there. This time, he doesn't falter too much when the shock comes, committing to his pursuit as his fingers clamp down harder. He carefully begins to withdraw his hand and the… thing… from his pocket, slow as his head cranes to look at it.
When gold flashes in Impulse's eyes, he feels his heart jump, a nervousness making his chest tighten. But when no ticking comes, he finds his muscles untensing…
Only to tense up once again when he realizes oh… oh…
He grabbed the apple.
The forbidden fruit.
The doomsday device.
He nearly throws it onto the ground, because he shouldn't be holding it! But when he tries, his fingers don't budge. His arm just awkwardly jerks around. Which is arguably more embarrassing and confusing than the realization itself.
He attempts it again, shaking his hand like he's got something gross stuck to it, but it stays all the same. He can't let go of it. Why can't he let go of it?
When tossing it doesn't work, Impulse resigns himself to just… staring at it. Because what else is he meant to do?
Horror isn't the right word to describe the feeling bouncing around inside of him, but it's something akin to it. More shock than anything, he supposes. Bewilderment that he was holding it again and confusion that he had apparently taken it from the chest in his panic and just… didn't realize it. Literally how had he not realized it?!
Despite the fear and concern bubbling in his gut, Impulse can't help but bring it a little closer, giving his arm some reprieve as it adjusts to a more comfortable position. With his hand in front of him, hovering above his raised knees and lap, Impulse stares, completely silent save for his heaving chest and stuttered breaths.
It's… pretty. Really pretty, actually. Not as pretty as his enchanted one from the game before, sure, but even without the glimmering sheen of pure, unadulterated power… it was pretty.
His gaze dances across the golden skin, catching on the little specks and sparkles that dust it. Like a constellation, they painted the yellow with beautiful hues and bright splotches, twinkling just barely in the light beaming down through the branches.
It's so warm in his hand. Not in just a physical sense, either. It feels tender to the touch, something cozy and comforting nestled against his calloused palm. The feeling echoes through it, through his skin and bones and blood, until it goes somewhere deeper entirely. It feels like it's filling his very soul, heart almost… aching.
Impulse soon finds himself feeling heavy when he looks at it. A terrible longing begins to fill him the longer he stares, thumb rubbing gently along the golden surface, reveling in just how safe it makes him feel. It was strange, how a piece of fruit could make all those weary feelings fade away into nothing.
As the warm haze settles over him, he can barely register the way his lips part ever so slightly. And it's then he feels just how watery his mouth is, how much saliva is gathering… gross.
He has just enough mind to purse his lips shut, swallowing down the spit and grimacing at how tingly his mouth feels. His stomach hurts, too, he realizes, a quiet grumbling rumbling up from his gut.
It dawns on Impulse that he's hungry. He's so, so, so hungry.
But despite the borderline desire eating at him from the inside, his hand remains deathly still in front of him. Just like when he tried to throw the apple, he finds that he can't move.
His lips begin to quiver as he feels the hunger climbing up his throat, raking its nails against his insides, desperate to claw its way out of him. It feels like a hand that's about to burst out of his mouth, stealing the fruit from his own and taking it with it back down into the depths of him. Somewhere it should never, ever go. Ever.
Impulse is wracked with paralysis as he stares at the golden apple, eyes beginning to twitch the more the uncomfortable feeling grows inside him, that desire. Oh, how his heart aches to take the skin between his teeth, to dig into that heavenly sweetness, to feel something in him snap—
Then, suddenly, Impulse feels something fall onto his head with a loud thump.
He's ripped abruptly from his daze, his free hand coming up to feel around his hair, patting it down and rubbing where his scalp begins to buzz with a faint pain. His brow furrows as he looks up at the canopy of leaves above him, gaze searching, squinting when he sees nothing out of the ordinary.
He lets out a huff. "What was that?"
"Gravity."
Impulse jumps (as much as he can while sitting, which granted, isn't a lot), heart leaping out of his chest when he hears a voice that isn't his. His head jerks around every which way, a fearful look in his wide eyes as his shoulders hunch up, nearly reaching his ears.
His vision turns red when he looks to his left, head craning up to follow the cloak. And above the scarlet fabric and white fur lining sits a face. Half is covered in a crescent marking, something monstrous and inhuman and horrifying as it stares down at him, and the other half is…
Pearl.
"What the— you scared me!" Impulse blurts out, and even when his body is riddled with fear, he finds it in himself to complain. But his voice quickly melts into something softer as he lets out a sigh, shooting her a confused look. "Seriously, what was that?"
"Gravity," Pearl repeats herself simply, giving a shrug. "You're smart. What, have you never heard of Newton's law? Tsk, tsk, tsk… Impulse…"
Her feigned disappointment makes something in him stir, and he frowns as a huff slips past his lips. "It's not a law, Pearl, it's a theory… and it's more complicated than that, anyways…"
His grumbling earns a giggle from Pearl, who leans down with a big grin on her face… or, well… half of it. The other half's mouth is tugged up in something similar… just a bit more unsettling. He's not sure if it's scarier with or without those pearly whites and sharp canines.
"I'm just messin' with 'ya," she drawls, one hand coming out to ruffle his hair, the other reaching down to search through the grass beside him. Impulse's eyes follow her, raising a brow as he leans over to get a better look.
Before he can ask what she's trying to find, she stands back up straight, clutching something tight in her hand. He squints, catching glimpses of gold peaking out between her fingers. He can't help the way his body begins to feel off, his chest tightening as he swallows a lump in his throat.
"What's that?" he asks, and he hates the way his voice trembles ever so slightly. He needs to just get over it already. He can't freak out over clocks for the rest of his life—
"Golden apple."
His heart stops… or skips a beat… or just convulses in his chest. "Huh?"
She hums to herself, gazing down at the fruit in her hand affectionately before letting Impulse take a look, turning it to give him a better view. "Golden apple. I don't know why you're so surprised… look at yourself…"
Pearl motions to his other hand, the one grasping his own piece of contraband in a vice. His eyes flit to it, giving it a once over before he's back to looking up at the other. He swallows thickly, downing the frog in his throat.
"Uh… yeah. I guess you're right. Sorry."
"You're fine," she says easily, leaning on the tree he's backed up against as she peers down at him. "Whatcha' doing with that, anyways? Don't you know those are banned?"
Impulse stares at her silently for a moment, and the longer he stares, the more he can see her lips begin to twitch. She's holding back a smile. He knows she is.
It feels safe enough to tease, so he does. "Guess we're both getting kicked out then."
Pearl lets out a huff through her nose that melts into a warm chuckle, eyes squinting as her grin returns. Less threatening this time. More Pearl-y.
"Not if we don't eat it," she replies, tone light and fun. "We can keep them around as a trophy, though, can't we? Just a little knick knack?"
Impulse lets his own lips curl into a smile. "That's what I've been doing."
"Really?" she asks, raising her brow as her good eye widens. "I would've thought you'd thrown it out by now! Don't you know what that thing's capable of? One little bite and you and your husband are—"
She makes a cutting motion with her free hand, pairing it with a noise akin to the act itself.
Impulse chuckles awkwardly, an airy sound as he hordes the apple to his chest, almost… ashamed, he thinks. "We, uh… we thought we were cool for having one. So we kept it. But we keep it tucked away in our secret chest at all times, so—"
"At all times?" Pearl asks, and Impulse doesn't waste a beat before he's huffing out a sigh, pursing his lips together. Because yeah… it's definitely not in his secret chest right now like it should be.
"Well, what's it doin' out, then?" she continues, head lolling against the tree trunk. "You takin' it for a walk?"
She's giggling at her own words before Impulse can even speak, and honestly? It makes some of the embarrassment melt away, oddly enough. He can't help but laugh along.
"I'm gonna be so honest with you right now, Pearl, I… I have no idea why I have it on me," Impulse confesses, looking up at her with all the transparency he can muster. "One moment I'm putting stuff away, and the next I'm out here with… this."
Pearl hums, juts out her lip in thought like it's the most confusing thing in the world, before she's back to smiling. Well, more so smirking. "There has to be more to it than just that. C'mon, Impulse… you didn't just black out… unless you did. Wait, did you black out?"
She begins to push herself off the tree to stand up straight again, and her eye holds a distant sort of concern. Before he can let it grow, Impulse is quick to shake his head, waving his free hand to emphasize the point.
"No, no, no, I didn't like… fully black out or anything," he exclaims, and he feels his anxiousness ease a little when her gaze softens slightly. "I just… I was just really eager to leave, I guess. And I accidently grabbed it and stuffed it in my pocket on my way out. Which… I still don't know why I did! But… I did."
Pearl is quiet as she seemingly picks apart his response like a puzzle, eye squinting as her lips purse again. Her head tilts to the side a bit as she looks him up and down. "Why were you so eager to get out, huh?"
"Oh, uh…" he starts, and he's quick to search for an excuse, any excuse. "I just… y'know… thought I'd go out and get stuff for dinner. For, um… for Bdubs."
Pearl's eye squints even more, shooting Impulse a look. Not something all too accusatory, just… kind of knowing. It draws a shaky sigh out of him as his gaze flits from her, searching for just about anything else to stare at. Because it's hard to meet her eyes when she knows, even if it's not the whole story. It feels weird being looked at and actually being seen.
"And I just needed some air… I guess."
He can hear Pearl letting out a low hum. Not exactly all that convinced, but content, he assumes. His gaze stays locked on a nearby tree, following the patterns in the bark, the jagged lines and deep crevices. Like scars on skin. It almost looks familiar, like something he'd caught in the mirror one time as he stared at himself. Probably for too long.
"Don't blame 'ya," Pearl tears him from his thoughts, and Impulse can hear the rustling of clothes at his side. Before he can even truly register it, she's plopping down next to him. Far enough away that not a bit of her touches him, but close enough that he can still feel she's there. Or sense it, more so.
"Everybody needs a break sometimes," she adds, giving a shrug. "Soulmates can just be so… oh, y'know…"
Impulse can feel the air move as she waves her hand around, searching for the right word. Maybe she's trying to pass it off to him, get him to finish it for her, but Impulse doesn't have it in himself to say anything. Knowing him, it would tumble out before he could stop himself, some sort of confession falling from his lips.
When a few beats of silence pass by without so much as a guess, Pearl sighs deeply, almost dramatic. "Yeah… yeah, you know what I mean."
He can sense her eye glancing towards him, boring into his temple. He swallows thickly. His intense gaze stays locked somewhere else, anywhere else but her.
"You know," she repeats herself, quieter this time. More potent, almost, like it's spoken directly into his soul. "I know you know."
Impulse isn't sure what he's supposed to know. But he has a feeling he knows it, anyways. Something unsaid, something uncomfortable, like it's a dirty little secret.
He finds it in himself to shrug in turn, eyes slowly dropping back down to the apple in his hand. He adjusts his hold ever so slightly, fingers digging into the golden skin, the tips of them numb from the constant buzz ringing inside the fruit. It's warm, both to look at and to touch. Grounding.
Impulse feels a jolt of surprise rush through him when her knee knocks against his. "You can tell me, y'know. If something happened."
He stares at the apple. His eye gives a slight twitch. His heart tightens in his chest, too.
"I love the drama," she drawls on, falling back into her usual loopy, taunting tone. "I know you do, too… with all your home-wrecking and the like. So who's wreckin' your home, huh? C'mon, tell me! Seriously, tell me, I'm curious!"
"Pearl—"
"Trouble in paradise?" she asks, and Impulse can feel a finger pressing into his shoulder, digging into it with every poke. "Aww, such a pity… and to think you two were doing so well… you were married! Huh. Guess it was only a matter of time before it fell apart—"
"Pearl."
It comes out angrier than he meant it to, and his mouth feels bitter, like he just spat out venom. He regrets it the second it bounces around in his own ears, and then he's curling in on himself, hiding his hands against his chest. The one without the apple grabs at his shirt, nails clawing at the fabric, and he has to stop himself while he has half the mind before he ends up ripping it.
Something in him shrivels up and wilts when he feels Pearl's knobby knee pull away. And when her gaze follows suit, he can only pray the whimper bubbling in his throat doesn't come out.
"Okay." Her voice isn't cold, it's just… distant. Impulse wants to curl into a ball and die.
He didn't mean to sound mean, his mind screams as his fingers dig deeper into his shirt, into the skin of the golden apple. She just wouldn't stop talking and saying things he didn't want to hear and he just wanted her to stop. He wanted it all to just stop.
An apology is on the tip of his tongue, but it won't come out. Not when he can feel tears beginning to well in his eyes and his lip beginning to quiver. He wants to spit it out more than anything in the world, but he knows a sob will come along with it, and he's not ready for that. He needs to be strong. He needs to get it together—
"I'm sorry."
The words aren't his own. Instead, Pearl's voice catches him by surprise.
His head begins to shake all on its own, because no, it's not her fault! It's his! It has to be his! Because all she did was say some silly stuff, stuff he should've been able to just brush off and laugh about, but it made him get all weird… and that's his fault. It's always his fault.
"You don't—"
"No. Stop that. Just let me be sorry, Impulse," she's quick to interrupt him. And for a moment it feels wrong, like he's back at home and he's acting off and his soulmate is trying to get him to snap out of it. But then he hears her breath hitch ever so slightly before a shaky breath pushes past her lips.
"I was bein' pushy… that wasn't nice," Pearl continues, and all the teasing is gone from her voice, making way for something softer. "Sometimes I just… I guess I get too ahead of myself, y'know? I look for bad in places where it doesn't have to be."
Her knee falls against his again, almost hesitant. Impulse pushes back against it. Not to shoo it away, but to show he's there, too. To express some sort of understanding and forgiveness that his words can't.
With that, he feels the rest of her leg press to the side of his, her hip gently bumping against his as she scoots closer. Impulse lets her. Not because he's scared or tired, but because it's okay. He's okay.
"I'm happy for you guys," Pearl says, plain and simple. "I really am, promise. You two are proof that this soulbound doesn't have to be a curse… it can be something nice. And I think that's cool."
There's something bittersweet in her tone, and Impulse picks up on it just as quickly as he picks up on the way her fingers begin to pick at the grass. "He loves you. I know he does."
Do you? The thought barrels through Impulse's mind before he can stop it, but he doesn't let it grow into words. Instead, he tucks it somewhere far away, where it will never get past his lips. Just like the apple.
He just has to remind himself that she doesn't know the half of it. Nobody does, really. The war that still roars on like a storm inside of him is for him and him alone to bear. Not even his own husband will get a glimpse of it, and Impulse intends to keep it that way.
He's happy now, he sometimes has to remind himself in the midst of it all, when the memories rain down on him and he feels he might drown. He's not there anymore. He's safe.
"I love him, too," Impulse blurts out, like muscle memory, like he's had to plead out time and time before. "We're good… everything's good."
Because it is. He loves Bdubs, and Bdubs loves him, and they're good.
Pearl lets out a noise, something quiet and resigned, as he senses her nodding beside him. He can't help the way his gaze slowly rises to catch a glimpse of her face, sneaking a look at the frown tugging at her lips. They tremble a little, Impulse thinks. It makes his heart clench in his chest.
He's lucky, isn't he? That he has someone who loves him? That he has someone to love in turn?
Impulse can see the distant sadness swimming around in her eye, the longing festering inside of her. It hurts to look at. He can't even begin to imagine how much more it must hurt to feel.
"I think there's still hope for you."
The words tumble out of Impulse's mouth before he can stop himself. And even when embarrassment begins to bubble inside of him and nervousness eats at his bones, he doesn't take it back. Because he means it. He thinks so, at least.
Pearl is silent for a moment, the quiet echoing throughout the woods, harrowing and piercing and uncomfortable. But before Impulse can even begin to think about back tracking, she scoffs.
"I don't think I want there to be hope for me," she spits out. Fabric ruffles and shifts as she brings her arms up, crossing them over her knees before she rests her chin atop them. "I'm fine where I'm at. I don't need anybody."
Even though her words sound gritty and certain, Impulse can tell her ears are lowering, flattened against her head. He can hear the rustling of a furry tail against the grass, and he catches glimpses of it trying to weasel its way between her legs.
She looks so small, Impulse thinks to himself.
Despite her intimidating height and her long cloak and her uncanny face… she looks small. Not like the big, scary, evil witchy werewolf he'd heard so many rumors about. But like a puppy. A sad, scared, kicked puppy.
Impulse wants to tell her that's not true. He wants to tell her that he knows it hurts her, being so isolated and shunned. He wants to tell her that there's more waiting for her, arms ready to welcome her when she needs them most…
But he doesn't. Maybe it's because he knows it won't get through to her. Maybe it's because he knows he couldn't truly be those arms. Maybe it's because he doesn't want to get either of their hopes up.
Instead, his gaze flits down to the apple in her hand, gold shimmering in the gaps between her fingers.
"Then why don't you eat it?" he asks. "If you want to be alone so badly…"
He catches the way Pearl's fingers tighten around the apple, nails digging into the skin. Not enough to break it, though. Maybe that's how he knows she's holding back.
She's staring at it just as intently as Impulse is, eyes boring into the fruit. She doesn't blink, eye just twitching the longer she looks at it. He can tell there's something going on in her head, a war inside her skull that is hers to suffer through. Alone.
But maybe that's just how she wants it to be.
"I don't know," she finally confesses, her voice startling Impulse after the long beat of silence. "I just… I don't know…"
"I'm not scared," she adds, words spat out, almost desperate in how stubborn they are. "If that's what you're thinking… hm… that's probably what you're thinkin', huh?"
Pearl cranes her head to look at him, and the eye that drills into him shines in the light beaming down between the branches. "I would if I really wanted to, y'know."
She blinks, eye even glossier when she opens it again. She takes a shaky breath in, shoulders hitching ever so slightly. "I'm not a coward."
Impulse ignores the way her voice trembles. For both their sakes. Mostly hers, he thinks.
He swallows thickly, and as tempted he is to shrink in on himself when she stares at him so intently, gaze sharp and unwavering… he doesn't.
Impulse just meets her eye for as long as he can. His head gives a short nod all on its own. "You're not. I know you're not."
Because he does know. Pearl is stronger than him. So much stronger than him. She's strong enough to hold herself back, even when her soulmate and the server drives her to madness. She's strong enough to keep going even when every fiber of her begs her to sever the string. She's strong enough to stay stuck.
He's the coward between them, if anything, he knows. So cowardly that he can't even bring himself to eat the damn thing. Which is worse, he wonders… being too scared to leave or too scared to stay?
Both, he decides, are terrifying.
Maybe that's why he's paralyzed. Maybe that's why he feels so doomed all the time. Maybe that's why he lies to himself every day he spends tethered to his husband, just waiting for the day where he's finally content.
Silly him, waiting.
It's then Pearl's grimace melts into something else, something softer and calmer. The corner of her lip twitches upwards. She lets out a shaky sigh. "Thanks."
Impulse manages to pull himself together enough to flash her a gentle smile. "Of course… it's true. You're, like… the bravest person I know, I think."
He doesn't say it enough. He wishes he did.
Pearl scoffs, free hand coming up to swat at him. "Oh, stop it, you… you're just saying that to be nice."
Impulse lets out an airy chuckle, shoulders shrugging as he knocks his knee against hers. "I mean, yeah, I guess… but that doesn't mean I don't mean it. I think you're really brave, Pearl… brave and strong and so cool… even if you're kinda scary."
He squeaks out the last part, which earns him a laugh from Pearl who promptly gives his upper arm a shove. Her head shakes as her hand pulls back, resting it in the grass again, green blades peeking out between her slender, frostbitten fingers.
"Okay, okay… thank you, I guess," she says with a giggle, rolling her eye. "I suppose you're pretty cool, too…"
Impulse can't help the way his face lights up, head tilting to the side as he looks up at her, almost itching for that little bit of reassurance. "Aww, you really mean it?"
She snorts, using her side to shove against him this time as a carefree chuckle tumbles out of her. "Yeah, yeah, I mean it. You're cool, Impy."
With that, something warm blooms inside of Impulse's chest, a familiar fondness that crawls under his skin and creeps into his heart. The laughter has memories twinkling like stars inside his head, little echoes of joy and bliss flashing through his mind. And suddenly a part of him is somewhere else, in another world with another Pearl.
He knows it won't last, this feeling, but he clings onto it anyways. Maybe that's a foolish thing to do. Impulse just can't help himself.
I've missed this, he wants to say. Because he has. He's missed the talking and the laughing and tenderness of being her friend. But the sentiment doesn't make it past his lips, instead resigned to stay a longing thought stuck in his mind.
He wonders if she misses him, too. If she does, she can't bring herself to say it, either. Maybe that's for the best in a place like this.
But soon, words do tumble out of her mouth. "I appreciate you."
It's simple. It's concise. It's probably all she can will herself to say. Impulse cherishes it, anyway.
"I appreciate you, too," he replies, just as simple and concise.
Pearl is silent for a moment, breathing deeply as she looks out into the forest, thumb rubbing against the shiny skin of the apple.
"Can I ask you something?" she suddenly says. Impulse lets out a hum of affirmation. A soft, airy sigh leaves her lips.
"Would you eat it?"
The question doesn't hit as hard as it probably should've. Maybe because Impulse has asked himself that same question countless times before.
It's not a yes or no answer. No, it's much more complicated than that. There's levels of nuance to it that Impulse didn't even know he was capable of grasping. He still doesn't truly understand them, honestly. He doesn't think he ever will.
The golden apple suddenly feels so much heavier in his hand, and his fingertips press harder against it, numb and tingly from the warm, electric buzz bouncing around inside of it. He holds it a little tighter, eyes dropping down to gaze at it, to trace over the myriad of speckles that paint its shiny yellow skin.
He wonders how it would feel, the soulmate string snapping. He wonders how it would feel being himself again and himself alone. He wonders how it would feel to finally see Bdubs writhe in pain and not feel a single thing at all.
The fantasy fills him with a sick sense of delight. The guilt that consumes him afterwards crashes over him like a wave and tosses his head and heart about like a boat in a stormy sea. He's scared he's going to drown it in again.
Impulse swallows thickly. He stares at the apple. He catches the faintest glimpse of his reflection in the golden sheen, one with no white in his hair and no gap in his teeth.
He sees him. The real him. The happy him.
Impulse sees a version of himself that is finally free.
He feels a stinging in his eyes. He shoves the apple back into his pocket with a trembling hand. He shakes his head.
"No," he finally says, and he does what he does best. Lie. But is it really a lie if he doesn't know what the truth is anyway? "No… never."
It's quiet for a moment as the words echo in the clearing, bouncing off the trees and getting lost in the nearby snow. Impulse doesn't say anything more. Pearl doesn't, either… well, until she does.
"Any reasoning for that, or…" she asks, words trailing off. Impulse shrugs.
"I love him," he manages to croak out, pulling his hand from his pocket and wiping it off in the grass. His fingers are still buzzing, the memory as nauseating as the lips he can still feel against his cheek. "I love being with him. I love being… us… I guess."
Pearl's eye bores into him. She raises a brow. "And you need a soulbound to be that?"
That… maybe stops Impulse's thoughts in their tracks.
His initial response is to be angry, to get defensive and upset, because why would she even say something like that? How dare she even allude to that being the case? Oh, the gall she must have to assume such a thing…
But then it slowly dawns on him that maybe he's angry for a different reason. Maybe he's angry because of something he knows he can't hide from.
Maybe he's angry because she's right.
Impulse can't bring himself to speak. He can't bring himself to plead a case for himself, a case for Bdubs, a case for their marriage. He can't bring himself to lie.
Because it's true. It's true and Impulse doesn't want to believe it. He doesn't want to believe it even though he knows deep in his bones that that's the only reason Bdubs is with him.
Because he has to be. Because they're soulmates. Because he's stuck.
They're both stuck.
Impulse could do something about that, he knows he could. He could set them free, sever the string that sewed them together. He could eat the apple—
But he can't.
He can't because he's greedy and he's scared and he's so desperate for anything he can get, any scraps of love and affection, even if they're not real. He can't tell which is more cowardly, clinging onto that facade or abandoning it all together. Oh, he's doomed either way.
Impulse is trapped. In a soulbound. In a marriage. In his own mind. And he knows he could leave any time he wants… but he won't.
And maybe Pearl knows that, because after sitting in silence for a while, a silence Impulse can't bring himself to break, she sighs. "Just food for thought."
When he hears rustling beside him as Pearl hoists herself up to her feet, a part of him is tempted to grab her. To cling onto her cloak and tug her back down, to weasel his way into her arms and hide against her chest, to tell her she's right, she's so right—
But he doesn't.
Instead, Impulse lets her stand up, one hand grasping at blades of grass while the other resigns to rest on his knee. They're itching to move, to reach out, to silently beg her not to leave. But he doesn't let them. With every urge, he only holds the grass and his knee tighter, knuckles beginning to ache and go white.
He doesn't look up at her. He simply stares into the woods, at the trees and the branches and the snow on the ground. A sliver inside of him wants to seek out her gaze, to meet her eye, to feel seen. But he can't bring himself to do it. He can't bring himself to do much of anything.
"Speaking of food," she drawls on, and suddenly Pearl's voice is molded back into something playful and taunting. A facade. A disguise. "I've been craving some of that soup of yours lately. Say, when's the next time I can nab some? Hm?"
The words feel distant at first. It takes Impulse a moment to register them, to clear his throat and his head. He sits as upright as he can. He never realized how slouched he'd become. "Oh, uh… I can start a batch when I get home. I'm sure Bdubs and I will have leftovers."
"Yum!" she exclaims with a grin, clasping her hands together. "Then I'll be sure to stop by. I'll see you then, yeah?"
Impulse's body decides it's finally okay to look at her again, and he cranes his head up to meet her eye. He musters up as much of a smile as he can. He hopes it's enough. "Yeah, yeah… sounds good. See 'ya then."
Pearl lets out a loopy hum, brushing down her scarlet cloak before she begins walking away. A few steps out, she glances back over her shoulder. "Don't sit under that tree for too much longer, by the way. Don't want another apple knockin' you on the noggin."
"But who knows," she adds, eye squinting a little as she zeroes in on him, something wicked glimmering behind it. "It did Newton some good. Maybe you'll make some mind blowing discovery, too."
Before Impulse can even begin to say anything in return, she's gone. She melts into the shadows like she's one of them, vanishing as quickly and as quietly as she had appeared. A part of that is chilling, honestly. Frightening. But wasn't that what Pearl had become?
And when she's gone, silence falls over the clearing. A thick, uncanny, uncomfortable silence that has Impulse's skin crawling and his throat tightening. All he can hear is the sound of his own breathing, and it is sickening.
He tries to move his legs. He can't. He tries to move his arms. He can't do that, either. Even his eyes are too stubborn to move without mustering up as much courage as he can.
Impulse's body just feels… heavy.
He blames it on being tired.
Maybe he didn't get enough sleep last night with Bdubs snoring and hogging the bed. Maybe he wasted too much energy down in the mines and too much brain power organizing his findings. Maybe it's just been a long, long, long day.
He's cold. The sun that once peeked through the canopy of leaves overhead was now setting, a chill beginning to settle in the clearing as shadows of early evening crept closer. It's getting late. He should be home by now.
Bdubs is probably wondering where he is. It's probably embarrassing how that is what's enough to get Impulse to push himself up and onto his feet. Bdubs.
He can't help but lean against the oak tree once he's standing, being so careful not to let the bark dig into his temple. But not for his sake. It's never for his sake, is it?
In the cool of the clearing, the warmth radiating from his pocket is all the more obvious. He can't tell if his fingers are numb from the cold or the buzz that still dances beneath his skin. Probably both.
Impulse lets out a shaky sigh, pushing himself off the tree and stuffing his trembling hands into his pockets. But the one on the right quickly slips out when it nears the forbidden fruit inside. Not that it matters. His hand can handle being left out to freeze for a bit.
Besides, the sooner he gets home, the sooner he can hold them in front of a warm furnace and melt all that chill away. And the sooner he can use them to do something useful, like make dinner. And the sooner he can get that thing back to where it belongs.
Impulse's feet start moving all on their own, only realizing he's walking once he hears grass and snow crunching beneath his shoes. There's some sort of compass inside of him, pointing him where he needs to go. Leading him back to home sweet home.
His surroundings blur together with every step, the world around him going quiet and foggy. Because none of it matters. The only thing he cares about is getting back home. Back to Bdubs. Back to work.
His hand closing around a doorknob snaps him back into reality, and he pulls it open with a sluggish tug. Spruce falls away to welcome him into the white that covers the walls of the kitchen, brown wood creaking beneath his feet as he steps inside. It's warm. Thank god it's warm.
Impulse makes a beeline for the painting, creeping behind it as quickly and quietly as he can. The apple in his pocket feels like it's going to burn through his shorts. He needs to put it back where it belongs, and he needs to do it now.
Trembling hands fling the lid of their secret chest open, and Impulse takes a deep breath to prepare himself before he shoves one into his pocket, grabbing desperately at the fruit inside. Electricity and heat surge through him, muscles tensing as he holds it out in front of himself, chest heaving with shaky breaths.
Impulse stares at it one last time, at the beautiful golden sheen, at the splotches and speckles that paint the skin, at his reflection looking right back at him.
Something deep inside of him mourns what he could've been. What he could be. What he knows he'll never let himself become.
And finally, with all the strength he can rally, Impulse tosses the apple into the chest. He slams it shut like it never happened, like Pandora's box had never been opened to begin with. He can pretend, can't he? Yeah. He can pretend.
The sound of the lid closing echoes throughout the hidden space, and only then does Impulse realize he might've been a little too loud. And the footsteps he hears stomping outside the painting only solidify it.
"Hello?" a voice yells out, and Impulse's eye twitches like it has a thousand times before. "Who's there?!"
Impulse slips out from behind the painting again, tapping against the frame of it as his feet plant soundly on the spruce floorboards. Bdubs's head whips around at the noise, eyes wide with fright before the familiar face dawns on him.
"Impulse, baby! You're home!" he says with a laugh, arms spread wide like a reflex. "Whad'ya get for dinner?"
Impulse falls into his soulmate's arms just as instinctively, routinely fitting inside of him like he has time and time before. "Just the usual… hope you don't mind mushroom stew."
"Mushroom stew? Seriously? Again?" Bdubs asks, a scoff passing past his lips as he pulls back from the other. He can't tell if it's playful or not. "Impulse, c'mon, I swear 'ya make that, like, every single freakin' night—"
"I'm making stew," Impulse spits out, pursing his lips as he stares down at his husband, as if that will keep all the snark trapped inside. "I got things for stew, so I'm making stew. If you want something else so badly, just… just…"
Impulse's words begin to fall apart as he suddenly feels deflated, curling in on himself just barely as he clears his throat. He feels bad getting like that. Even if he knows a little lashing out won't make any difference in their little game they play. "Sorry… I can make something else for you, I just… I wanted soup."
Bdubs is silent for a moment as he looks up at him, eyes quickly growing distant and dark the longer he stares. A heavy sigh tumbles out of him a moment later, a hand coming up to brush his hair back. "Soup is fine. It's fine. Yeah, just make soup. Sounds good."
The kiss Bdubs plants on his cheek doesn't feel like a kiss. It feels like a routine. A mindless action that has lost all its meaning. And maybe that's for the best. Even if it makes Impulse's heart want to shrivel up and die.
He lets Impulse walk to the kitchen and get out his pots and ingredients, watching blankly as he begins chopping up mushrooms while the water begins to boil. The quiet is only broken by the loud sounds of a knife clashing against a cutting board. Neither of them speak until Impulse feels like he has to.
"Pearl might be stopping by… just so you know," he exclaims, throat feeling tight. He pushes the words out, anyway. "She wanted to nab some leftovers."
Bdubs lets out a knowing noise, clicking his tongue as his hands settle on his hips, thumbs rubbing against the leather of his belt. "Ah, Pearl! That'll be, uh… interesting… to say the least."
"When she'd tell 'ya that?" he adds, tilting his head as he walks towards the counter, leaning against it to absentmindedly study the mushrooms and the man slicing them.
"Oh… I saw her while I was out," Impulse responds simply. "She asked if we had any soup and I told her I'd make some."
"Hm… okay," Bdubs hums, shrugging. He lets out a huff, lowering his voice. "So that's why 'ya wanted to make soup… okay, whatever, that's fine…"
Impulse pretends not to hear him. It's easier to do that. At least, he assumes it is. Bdubs wouldn't do the same to all his complaints if it wasn't. So instead, he finishes the mushrooms, dropping them into the pot before he starts on a small mix of other veggies. "It'll be done in about fifteen. Would you be a dear and set the table, B?"
He hears another huff puff out beside him before footsteps begin to stomp towards the dining room table. "Sure, sure! Of course! Anything for you, sweetface."
Impulse's eye twitches when he hears a plate hit the tabletop with much more force than necessary. The silverware that clink and clack soon after have him swallowing down a deep breath, trying to keep his cutting steady.
"Oh! Should I set a seat for Pearl, too? Huh?" The sound of another plate slamming down onto the wood makes Impulse's ears ring. "'Cause I can! I can if 'ya really want me to!"
It's easier to say no. So Impulse does. "No, Bdubs. She's just having a quick visit. It's fine."
"Good," Bdubs spits out, and Impulse begins to wonder if he's not even trying to hold back anymore. The huff and grumble that follows doesn't help to deny it. "Wasn't plannin' on it, anyway."
A particularly loud chop echoes out from the counter, Impulse's hand trembling as it holds the knife. It's fine. He's fine. This is all fine.
Impulse's mouth feels tingly as he finishes slicing up the vegetables, dropping them into the pot as well. His eyes flit towards the small storage section of other produce, seeing if anything else would be fun to add. He doesn't find much he hasn't already chopped to bits.
But something does catch his eye. Something red and shiny.
Impulse reaches out, taking it into his hand. It feels familiar, like the fruit he had been holding not too long before. Just… less extraordinary, he supposes.
He stares down at it for a moment, gaze catching on the ever so faint reflection that bounces off the scarlet skin. He can just barely see himself in it. His brow furrows.
He sinks his teeth into it before he can even think twice. Tears a chunk of crisp apple right out of the side. Chewing it slowly, savoring every little bit. He wonders how much tastier it would be had it been the real thing, in all its golden glory. How much happier he'd be if it was.
Impulse swallows it down, grimacing as it drags its way down his throat. His fingers dig into the skin, turning it to the side ever so slightly as nothing but red paints his vision. A defeated sigh slips past his lips.
If only he wasn't such a coward.
He takes another bite, bigger this time. Juice begins to dribble down his chin.
Maybe one day.
One more bite. He thinks he might choke. He swallows it down, anyway.
He'll be brave.