Chapter Text
It's Twitter's first all-nighter in years, and it is not done for fun. His job has been all-consuming as of late, absurd amounts of hits and schoolwork and god, it's exam season, why now of all times?— but he's fine, really, he's just fine, he's been managing well, he is a-okay, the notion of a mental breakdown does not sound like it inches closer to him every day like that stupid immortal snail Tumblr keeps going on about, no, not at all. He's Twitter, the most popular social media platform of the last decade, and he's doing just fine.
Which is why he finds himself out and about at 5 o'clock in the morning right after disposing of another body, half out of his mind with an energy drink in his hand and his will to live dwindling by the second. He briefly contemplates just taking a day off and letting the hit requests and schoolwork pile on, but he finds he has enough will to live left that he really doesn't want to die tonight. That, and if it all does pile on, he will never be able to catch up without completely negating the rest he'd get from only one day. So on he pushes, and if he dies a little inside when he gets another 2000-word essay to complete by the end of the week, that's for him to deny and for everyone else to never find out.
He gets to work on that essay the second he gets home.
...Well, "home" is a bit of an overstatement. Everyone and their mother already knows that his boss burned down his apartment complex, — for "renovations", he said, apparently he found it quite simple, — so he's been camping out at Vine's, where apparently his spirit somehow still dwells.
Does he care?
At this point, not really.
So he gets started on that essay. The first 1000 words somehow make their way onto the page fine, but by the 1001st, he feels like the gray matter currently melting out of his ears might just stain the page instead of adorning it. But it's better to just get it done, take a quick nap, quickly check it over, finish his remaining hits (he knows there's going to be more by the evening), then leave it for a final spellcheck and sanecheck to be done an hour before it's due, so he does just that.
When the end of the week rolls around, he is going straight up insane. He still has 2 midterms to prepare for, a metric ton of users to kill, and he is terminally sleep-deprived. To say that he's not functioning at full mental capacity would be to say nothing. His blood is half energy drink, a quarter coffee, and a final quarter of whatever blue stuff is actually supposed to be there. Vine's house has still not been demolished, thank god, but it does now have what amounts to a movie detective red string pinboard hanging on the walls — namely, all of the material he's deemed necessary for himself to go over before the test days come knocking. How he's not dead from caffeine overdose is a miracle.
His classmates have started noticing. Instagram of all people sought him out on campus yesterday, asking if he's alright ("I'm fine, Insta, you're one to talk." "Now that's just rude."), Ebay asked if he needed some of his questionable sleep medicine ("No."), and Discord emailed him a concerned letter that he deleted outright. The last thing he needs right now is another distraction, because he already has more than enough work to do. He looks over the essay one more time, lingering on every word just to make sure he's not making any stupid mistakes, runs it through a spellcheck, runs it through a spellcheck again just to make sure, purchases a Grammarly subscription because at this point he really does not care enough, looks through its suggestions, finds a few mistakes he somehow missed, double-checks that he's saving the file to the right place, then sends it off.
Despite the mountain of murders he still hasn't committed, he takes this moment to promptly black the fuck out for 4 hours and wake up slightly more sane just to be able to at least comprehend whatever is on his walls right now. The second he's got the basics down, he messages his next target, requesting a meeting somewhere private. It's all business as usual.
This is not business as usual. This is, in fact, marginally more fucked up than business as usual, and that's saying something when said business is your body count going up by the hundreds. What, and Twitter cannot stress this enough, the fuck.
"Hey," says Tumblr.
This shouldn't even be possible.
"Cat got your tongue for once?"
How the hell would that even—?
"Earth to Twitter, hello, is this loonie headquarters?"
"No," he says. He sinks back into the cushy booth couch and dearly wishes it could just take him whole right now. "It's not, and you're the loonie here, as always."
"Yeah? Well, I'm not the one walking around looking like I haven't slept in years with literal flecks of blood on my sleeves. They kind of look like a pattern, but you're so stuck up you'd never wear anything but a plain white shirt."
Twitter glances at his sleeves. Tumblr is, unfortunately, not wrong. "Well, maybe I've decided to indulge in fashion."
"You? Fashion? Also, no offense, but the inconsistent brown really clashes with your whole clean blue-red shtick. It almost looks like you're simping for AO3."
Twitter fixes him with the most confused and offended look he can muster right now.
"Right, yeah, so the reason I got you to schedule a meeting here."
"The reason you..?"
Tumblr has the audacity to roll his eyes. "Yeah, me. Did you seriously not notice what address the email came from?"
Honestly, he hadn't. At this point it's an endless cycle of opening an email, scanning it for a Window address, and issuing the unfortunate victim a date with death. But if he's being honest, — and these days, he never really is, not even with himself, — he is quietly glad that he doesn't have to murder another website, least of all Tumblr. That's another one of those things; for him to deny, for others to never find out about.
He doesn't dignify Tumblr with an answer.
"Ugh, whatever. Anyway, my point is: people are literally just concerned about your ass walking around like that."
Twitter prefers to not get into that, so he raises his eyebrow instead. "What about my ass?"
"Ohh," Tumblr scoffs. "Very funny."
"I know. I am very funny."
"No, you're not."
"I am."
"Are not."
"Am too."
"This is fucking stupid," Tumblr says, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. "The reason I called you out here myself is that apparently, I'm the closest person to you that they know of. Fucking insane, right?"
"They?"
"Yeah, your entire class, you cunt. They owe me a whole month of free sandwiches for this."
"What is," Twitter gestures outward, "this, exactly?"
"An intervention."
"I have a gun and I'm not afraid to use it."
"Why the fuck do you have a gun?"
"Wouldn't you like to know, weather boy?"
Tumblr looks at him with the most what the fuck expression he has ever seen. "Where the hell have you been living?? You've never said that in your life. Vine quotes?? Vine quotes??"
Twitter goes a little blue-faced at that. "Did you seriously only call me here to insult me to my face? This was already pretty clearly pointless, so I was going to leave at some point, but now I'm doing that right now." He moves to leave, but Tumblr stomps on his foot with a force Twitter didn't know he was even capable of.
"Ow! What the fuck!"
"Sit down, dipshit."
Twitter doesn't have the energy to spend on getting out of here through shit like this, and, in the deepest recesses of his soul, he likes the plushiness of the booth couch, so he sits back down, glaring at Tumblr across the table. "What."
"Fuck you mean, what? Explain yourself."
"Wh— Explain myself?! What the fuck do you even mean?!"
An old, mostly forgotten quote floats up, as if offering some sort of way out of this: "Aren't you tired of being nice? Don't you just want to go apeshit?"
He doesn't take it up on its frankly dubious (though enticing) offer. Yet, at least.
"Why are you," Tumblr gestures to all of him, "like that now?"
"Like what?"
"All pathetic and seconds away from death."
"What a charmer."
"Shut the fuck up and answer the question."
"Tumblr, I'm fine." Tumblr gives him a very unamused look. He glares at him harder for that. "I said I'm fine! It's just exam season and because I'm such a good student, I'm getting more assignments."
"Really." Yeah, Tumblr clearly doesn't believe him for a second. Ah, fuck.
"Yeah, really."
"Just homework? You're a zombie over homework? You're telling me you don't calculate the appropriate times to sleep for once in your life?"
"N— I do! I do, there's just less of them now. But I'm fine. Really, I've been managing well."
"Uh huh. If this," Tumblr turns his index finger in a circle towards him, "is called 'managing well', then damn, I'm finally mentally stable. Oh wait, no, you're a shitty reference point because you haven't been mentally stable a day in your life. So that's bullshit."
"Why do you even give a shit? What am I, suddenly a, a pity case to you just because I'm a bit overworked?"
Tumblr answers his question with a question. "A bit overworked? Don't you fucking lie to me. I know you enough to know that when you're only a bit overworked, you're bitching about it to everyone you know and especially me. For some reason. Right now you look like you're seconds away from fighting in the skeleton war."
"I do not!"
"Do too."
"Do not!"
"Do too."
"Ugh!" Twitter says, crossing his arms. "It's fucking impossible to talk to you." Frankly, Tumblr is poking around parts of his life he really doesn't want him to poke around. Partially because it could give him ammunition, partially because it's just his life! He has a right to privacy, goddammit! Him allegedly looking dead on his feet doesn't warrant prying into his personal life! And for the record, he does not look seconds away from fighting in the skeleton war.
"And yet you keep doing it."
"We haven't talked in a week."
"Yeah, and that's fucking weird, because usually you regularly find and verbally shit on me in the most transparent way possible with an oh I'm such a good boy grin on your face."
"You'd think you'd be glad I haven't been there to fuck with you for a week."
"I don't give a shit if you're there or not! I'm here trying to earn my free sandwiches, so what the fuck have you been doing all this time?!"
"It's none of your fucking business!" Twitter is the first to get up to glare at Tumblr downwards (for once).
Tumblr follows; puts his hands on the table and leans on them. "Oh, you're getting secretive now?! What happened to bitching to me about every detail of the stupid shit they tell you to read at the university?!"
"It's not stupid! It's important to know that shit to run a successful company, and that's probably why your website has been going to shit for years!"
"Like yours recently hasn't!"
This has Twitter pausing to take a deep breath and let it out slowly.
"It hasn't. Like I said, everything's fine," he says, short and clipped.
"Hit a nerve, didn't I? Is this why you're basically already necromancer material?"
"No, and I don't look dead."
"Well, I beg to differ."
"Then fucking beg."
They stare at each other defiantly across the booth.
"God," Tumblr says, the first to sit back down, raising a leg under the table as a warning in case Twitter happens to try leaving. "You are such a fucking nutcase."
Twitter also sits down. "Yeah? I'm the nutcase here? Definitely not you?"
"Yeah."
"Sure," he says sarcastically. "Sure."
They sit in silence for a moment.
"I got a deal for you," Tumblr finally says.
"A deal?" says Twitter.
"Yeah. A deal," Tumblr confirms. "You live in my house for a week, I get at least another month of free sandwiches out of that, and then I never talk to you again."
At this point, Twitter would take any way out of this conversation. "Sure. Yeah. But if any part of your house falls within 2 meters of me, I'm leaving. Deal?"
"Deal."
--
"So where have you even been living?" Tumblr asks. He keeps a distance from Twitter; just because he technically lives in his house now does not mean they like each other enough to walk side by side.
"In a haunted house."
"At Vine's?? Is that why you quoted him?"
"I don't fucking know, and if you don't shut the fuck up right now we'll find out if website murder is possible."
Tumblr wisely does shut the fuck up, though he does mutter to himself what is probably insults towards him. Twitter really can't bring himself to care.
He only remembers the absolute classwork chaos inside once he opens the door, and immediately regrets not telling Tumblr to wait at his house. Tumblr peeks inside above his head and whistles.
"Holy shit," he says. He sounds more than mildly impressed, and if that makes Twitter feel a bit better about this, that's for him to deny and for everyone else to never find out. What also falls under that expansive category is that he has just realised that it's incredibly disorganised in there, completely inappropriate to show someone else, fuck, he should've asked him to wait outside or something while he packed, shit, his face now feels like it's literally on fire.
He quickly shuts the door, and, without turning around, says:
"Tumblr, wait right the fuck over here or I will find a way to get Musk to buy you too."
Before Tumblr can do anything but make an incredibly offended sound, he darts inside and locks the door behind him. Though he should already be gathering his notes, he takes a second to sit down on the floor and really, truly think through what he has just gotten himself into.
Oh god, oh holy fucking shit. Why is this his life?
-----
The walk to Tumblr's house is quiet for a time. Everything is so wild and unmaintained in the area that Twitter would probably complain about it if he hadn't been living in a much worse one. Being a hypocrite would give Tumblr something to remark upon, and that man already has way too much to say about him.
Of course, quiet times always end sooner than later with Tumblr around.
"So," he says. Twitter internally sighs and resolves himself to what'll probably end up being an hour of useless conversation. "That was a real mess in there, huh?"
He doesn't reply to that.
"That's not something you'd usually leave like that if I know jack shit about you."
"How do you know that's not just how I work in private?" Twitter keeps looking straight ahead, pointedly not making eye contact.
"I just know. Information obtained by legal methods."
"Just because you specified it..." Twitter finally looks towards him just to unamusedly stare at him, "...it was very illegal, wasn't it."
Tumblr rolls his eyes. "What, a guy can't be curious about what goes on in the Twitter penthouse's home office?"
"Not when it's trespassing and stalking!"
Tumblr scoffs. "You're the one stalking me. How the fuck do you always know where I am?"
"...Some kind of instincts, probably," Twitter says, staring straight ahead again. He is not about to admit that he bugged every single one of Tumblr's shoes.
"Oh, how the turns have tabled." He can see Tumblr smirking at him out of the corner of his eye and he hates him a little more. "Who's the criminal now?"
"It wasn't a crime," Twitter says. "It's instincts, like I said." Him being a criminal is... very true, though. Considering, you know. The murders.
"Is it though?"
"Yes. Also, wait. How do you know I don't just work like that outside an office?"
"I just know."
"Was this you stalking me again?"
"Why would you even say that. That is so hurtful of you."
Twitter doesn't even try to resist the urge to roll his eyes. "You have literally told me to kill myself. Multiple times."
"I'm just a skrunkly. A spoingle. Maybe even a mipy. Just a little guy. Why would I ever say something like that to you?"
"I don't even know what half of those words mean. And I don't know, why would you say something like that to me?"
"Because you're a cunt. Obviously."
"Fuck you."
"Love you too!" Tumblr says with an over-the-top smile on his face, making a heart with his hands. Twitter rolls his eyes again and pretends that the gesture doesn't make him feel a little warmer on the inside anyway.
"Wow, your house is as decrepit as usual."
"I invite you to live in my house instead of a literal building marked for demolition and the first thing you do when you walk through the door is insult it? What is this, the Ides of March? Et tu, Brute?"
"Yeah, yeah. Do you have a guest room?"
"Unless you count my closet, no, and I'm not letting you in there. You have to leave your own closet first."
Twitter turns to him with his backpack in his hands. "What the FUCK does that even mean???"
He watches Tumblr try to stifle his laughter before giving up and fully sinking to the floor. For a minute or two, he just stands there as Tumblr stands there on all fours and wheezes, literal tears streaming from his eyes. Whenever Tumblr tries to say anything in the middle of it, it comes out as gibberish and he can't understand him at all. So he just stands there until Tumblr mostly calms down and manages to get back up.
"You look so fucking—" Tumblr stifles another wheeze— "you look so fucking confused right now, holy shit—"
Twitter is too tired for any of his shenanigans now, so he just heads over to Tumblr's actual bedroom and starts unpacking. This time, he makes sure everything is in perfect order, because he will not have another Vine's House moment, thank you very much.
"That's my bed, if you haven't noticed. If you even care."
"I really don't. You can live in the living room for a week for your sandwiches."
"But it's my roooooom—"
Twitter ignores anything else Tumblr potentially says in favor of opening his Window and sighing at the 5 new hit requests that immediately pop up.
--------
Reddit does not want much. He wants a warm place to sleep, food that is quite frankly way too hot, clean water, a good internet connection, comfortable clothes, friends.....
Well, when you put it that way, they do actually want quite a lot. But that's okay. Everyone contains multitudes.
......and Tumblr can apparently consume multitudes.
As of right now, he's being bought way, way too many sandwiches. And no one is asking him to pay for them. And he is also eating all of them.
How did this come to happen, Reddit wonders. He approaches Instagram first and foremost.
"Uh, hey, Insta?" they start. She turns to them and smiles politely.
"Yeah?"
"What's..." Reddit helplessly gestures at the carnage happening in front of them.
It seems she understands what he means anyway, because she sighs and leads him a little ways away from everyone.
"Reddit, you know Twitter, right?"
"I guess?" They really mostly sit in the back of the class and don't look at anyone else much, and the only one he really remembers here is Instagram. But of course he knows who Twitter is. Who doesn't?
"Well... after he was bought by Mr. Musk, he became way grumpier, and recently he just looks so... exhausted. The reason why we're giving Tumblr sandwiches right now is 'cuz he asked for free sandwiches in return for a favor. The favor was to figure out what's going on with Twitter and help him as best he can — he's the closest to him out of everyone, far as I know."
"Oh. Okay," Reddit says. That's interesting.
...It's a little embarrassing to admit this even to himself, but he completely forgot Twitter was an actual person and not just someone famous out there. Maybe they should pay more attention to him, do whatever they can to help him too. It doesn't really sound like he's having a great time right now. Then again, they've already enlisted the help of Tumblr, who's probably the best website for the job. After all, Tumblr is really the home of community.
So they note all of this somewhere in their head and pack it away. Maybe they'll need it later.
----
Everything is burning down around him, and Reddit is currently not having much more fun than Twitter. Come to think of it, it's a little ironic how the bad situations of both were caused by bad management, isn't it?
...Well, Reddit's predicament may or may not be at least partially their own fault.
Either way, a few days after he learned of Twitter's predicament, "shit hits the fan", so to speak. He now no longer has a place to go to.
Who's the first person that comes to mind?
You'd think it would be Instagram, but really, Reddit can tell she doesn't really have the time, or the schedule, or the desire, or maybe a combination of all three, for a roommate. She speaks politely enough, sometimes even with warmth, but only an inch or two underneath hides a vicious businesswoman who would do almost anything for engagement. There's probably some other ocean of identity lurking beneath that, but Reddit isn't close to her, so they don't really know.
In contrast, he knows that Tumblr is kind enough to help Twitter, and really, where's the harm in trying? If it doesn't work out, they could probably see if Vine's old house is available — that's a little spooky, but it doesn't really look like it'll be demolished anytime soon, though it's marked for that. Hopefully, it's not haunted, but hopefully, he also won't have to find out.
He arrives at Tumblr's house. It's rather weirdly fancier than he thought, but also a little rundown. He expects silence, maybe singing, maybe Tumblr talking to himself or the sound of a TV, but the thing they most definitely do not expect is the sound of arguing coming from inside the house — and it's not just Tumblr arguing with himself, either. It kind of sounds like.... Twitter? Is that right? Hmm. That would make sense. Maybe helping him involved housing him?
They start to wonder if there would be enough space in the house for them.
Regardless, he braces himself and knocks on the door thrice. The arguing stops for a moment, but slowly starts up again, until Reddit knocks again, louder this time. There is the sound of footsteps coming towards the door, and a very annoyed and visibly exhausted Twitter opens the door.
"What the fuck are you doing here," he says. It doesn't sound like a question.
"Yes, well, I was kind of hoping I could speak to Mr. Tumblr about this..." Reddit trails off. Twitter seems upset in the way that people are upset when stretched too thin for too long, and he doesn't really want to upset him further than life seemingly has already.
Twitter rolls his eyes and opens the door, clearly inviting Reddit in — he also shouts for Tumblr to come over here, you fucking idiot, you have a guest. Since when did you have guests like a normal person while marching back inside, and Reddit didn't realise just how sharp words could sound even when aimed at someone who's allegedly closest to you in the whole world.
While they're mulling this over, Tumblr does finally come over to the front door, leaning against the wall near it and leaving them to awkwardly close the door and take off their shoes just because it's polite to do so (even though neither Tumblr nor Twitter have done the same).
"So what do you want?" Tumblr asks.
"Well, you see, so I may or may not have recently lost the ability to live in my own apartment, and, uh, you were the first person that came to mind..?"
Tumblr frowns. "What the hell is this, an orphanage?" he mutters to himself, then sighs. "Who are you again? Something starting with an R?"
"Reddit," he supplies. "So... do you know anywhere I could go where I wouldn't have to live on the streets because that kind of sucks, actually?"
"Yeah, no. You could go to Wikipedia or AO3, but they'd hate having a roommate, they got all their space organised, the rest already have a roommate dynamic. So yeah, this dump is pretty much the only place you can go."
"Is there a space available?"
Tumblr shrugs. "I guess. If you sleep on the floor."
"I think that that's better than sleeping outside, so could I take you up on that?"
"Twitter!" Tumblr shouts in the direction of what's presumably the bedroom.
"Fucking what?" Twitter shouts back.
"Reddit is going to sleep here on the floor!"
"I don't give a shit!"
"Well, there you go," Tumblr says, standing back upright and wandering over to the couch to fall on it sideways. It kind of reminds Reddit of the 'draw me like one of your french girls' meme. Tumblr points at the floor in front of the fridge. "You can sleep over there."
-------
Twitter is fine. He is fine and this is not overwhelming at all he is fine he's fine he's fine he's fine he's fine he's fine. He does not want to scream, he is fine.
...Fuck.
He is so fucked. He is so, so unbelievably fucked.
This is the most important part. How could he have forgotten? This is a mandatory paper every year, it's always due the same day every year, fuck.
That day is in 2 days. The paper is 15 pages long. He hasn't even started it. He hasn't slept in 3 days.
As fear-inducing and mortifying the ordeal of asking for help is, failure is unacceptable. He has to do it. He really, really does not want to. Asking for help is the last thing he wants to do, ever. In his entire life.
...However. There are certain circumstances where he has to put his pride and dignity aside, and this is one such occasion. He cannot allow himself to write this paper inadequately or miss the deadline.
The next question, equally as important and equally as terrifying, is who to ask. The obvious group to choose between is his classmates; they should have the same knowledge as he does (or, with the way he's been sleep-deprived for more than a week now, perhaps more). But this question also includes who to ask in specific. And that is a problem.
Yes, he could ostensibly consider all of them his friends. However, in his current state, he would never ask, for example, Instagram to come and help. She would take one look at him, whip out her phone, take a picture, and post it on her own website for the world to see. Twitch doesn't care about her studies, Discord would never leave her house (she does all her schooling online), and YouTube......
Yeah, there's nothing about YouTube that's trustworthy. Besides, him and Twitter are barely acquaintances.
There's also technically AO3 and Etsy, but he wouldn't let Etsy anywhere near his address, and while he's friendlier with AO3 than with Etsy (which, to be fair, is not at all a fair comparison), he would still really rather not ask him for help.
He's begrudgingly considering stepping over himself and asking him anyway, when one last name rises in his mind. He'd almost forgotten there was one more person he should've thought of.
Reddit.
Reddit has been living in the same house as him for about a day now. Which isn't really enough to be close, per se, but they've existed for some amount of time in an entirely casual setting. Reddit has seen him bitch to and about Tumblr, the first thing he ever said to him that wasn't "Twitter, very pleased to meet you" contained the word fuck, and Reddit is content to sleep on the floor without complaints (how they still haven't discovered the bean bag, he has no idea, but this does make it easier to potentially bully him into silence on the matter).
Reddit it is.
Twitter wearily gets up, downs the rest of his energy drink as painlessly as he can, throws the can in the designated Can Corner (because if he's living in Tumblr's trash house's trash room, he might as well add to its reputation), and wanders over to where Reddit should theoretically be on any given day that he isn't in class. He finds him on that exact spot: the right side of the couch in the living room, typing away at his computer. Both he and Tumblr are fond of analog, it seems. Twitter doesn't have the time or energy to even try to get into it.
"Reddit," Twitter says. He braces himself for the inevitable embarrassment of his status being clearly immediately lowered in Reddit's eyes at the barest request of assistance with something he could've reasonably done himself, and continues as Reddit raises their head to look at him:
"Look, I need—" ugh, why is this always harder than it sounds or needs to be— "I need your," fuck, why is he already going a little blue at this, he has no time to be doing this, just get the hell over yourself already! Push everything aside and just pretend you're completely emotionless or something, do literally anything that would work. "Reddit, I need some help, if you don't mind. Of the paperwork kind."
Reddit just blinks at him, smiles, closes and sets aside his laptop, and stands up. "Sure! What sort of paperwork help do you need?"
Twitter gestures for them to follow him and goes back to the bedroom. "Just come with me."
=========
This is Reddit's first time entering the bedroom. With Twitter occupying it for the past week or so, he expected it to be orderly — maybe a lot of papers everywhere, if anything, but that's it.
The bedroom's current state is... anything but that. There's an entire corner of discarded energy drink cans, there's a solid pile of dirty clothes building up (does he just keep buying new ones??) that's just the same outfit over and over, notes are on every surface imaginable (does Twitter even know which ones are where? With how many cans there are in the... Can Corner? It's entirely possible that he doesn't), there is a gun on the shelf (why does he have a gun???), and, finally on the singular table in the room (it's been dragged next to the bed so one could sit on the bed and write on the table), there is a 15-page stack of standard A4 sheets of paper, presumably to be filled with 12 point Times New Roman.
All of this is, of course, concerning, to say the least. But this is not the time.
Twitter sits behind the table, arms folded. Reddit follows his example.
"So," Twitter begins. There is a pause.
"So..?"
Twitter takes a deep breath.
"Have you already finished writing your mandatory, annual paper, Reddit?"
"For the most part," they say. That seems like a bizarre line of questioning unrelated to paperwork, but Twitter is the authority here, clearly, and besides, everyone knows who Twitter is. Reddit is, of course, also well-known, but while every last adult in the US of A has most likely at least heard of Twitter, Reddit remains lesser in terms of universal renown. "Why?"
"And you are aware that it's due in 2 days, correct?" Twitter is staring at nothing in particular, but his gaze is uncharacteristically sharp compared to his usual either pleasant and polite or tired and unfocused one.
"...Yes?"
"I have just realised that, having gotten a little caught up in my current boss's... assignments... and other schoolwork, I have not started the paper yet. It is apparent to me that in my current state, I will not be able to finish all 15 pages by Thursday. Seeing as you are my most available classmate, would it be possible for you to assist me in accelerating the rate at which I write such assignments?" Twitter asks. He sounds almost robotic, disconnected from himself despite his sharp eyes.
There are a lot of things to infer here. First of all, Twitter most likely does not physically have the energy to upkeep a presentable standard of life as of right now, seeing as ordinarily he does upkeep such a standard; hence the hesitantly dubbed Can Corner and the pile of clothes. His notes are not organised, which most likely also ties in with the energy issue. The usually collected Twitter, who, even with a modest amount of schoolwork and assignments (and presumably his boss's "assignments" as well), has never forgotten the annual paper, only remembering of its existence 2 days before the deadline, along with the blatant disconnect from himself and not having any energy, points to a startlingly large workload. The schoolwork isn't especially grueling in Reddit's experience, and he hasn't heard of any additional work being given out to star students at all (though of course there's always a chance he just hasn't noticed it), so his boss must be saddling him with metric tons of said "assignments".
There is so much wrong with every single part of all of this.
But it still is not at all Reddit's problem to deal with, even if he's aware of it, so he simply answers the question.
"Of course! Don't worry, I'll proofread it for you and everything."
After a few moments, Twitter marginally relaxes and seems to come back into himself somewhat. At the very least, enough to laugh awkwardly and apologise for the mess. Reddit assures him that it's alright, and asks if he needs them to look over what he's written once he's done or if he needs it to be a fully collaborative effort.
The answer is a stumbling, "Well, I know it would be a violation, of course, but seeing as it's really the only way I could finish it...", and so they make it a two-person job. Twitter is good at it, stellar even, that's a star student for you, but he misses some things that are really obvious if you're well-rested but easily fly under the radar if you're running on energy drinks and caffeine for the third day in a row. Reddit gently corrects each one Twitter himself doesn't, and by the third hour the time has flown and they're 5 pages in and, paradoxically, having a great time.
When Twitter starts nodding off for the fifth time in a row, Reddit decides it's time to stop, or he'll end up being the only one writing it.
"Mr. Twitter, I think it'd be good if you went to sleep now."
Twitter startles awake again and stares at him for a second. "No, there's still... I need another drink, hold on." He reaches for another energy drink off the shelf, but Reddit catches his hand.
"Look, I know you want to finish it as soon as you can, but you do need rest. Seriously, when was the last time you slept a full 8 hours?"
Twitter opens his mouth, visibly tries to think for a second, then closes it again. "...Well, what's it to you, anyway? Why do you care? This is fine."
"Falling asleep every 3 seconds is fine?" Reddit asks with a raised eyebrow.
"It's not falling asleep every 3 seconds, it's using what you have to make sure you have more time to use on actually useful stuff like working."
"Yes, spending more time to do a job subadequately instead of sleeping and being more competent as a result."
"I don't remember you being this sassy in class," Twitter says grumpily, already nodding off again. "...Don't become Tumblr."
"That's because I'm not. Sorry—" he gently knocks on Twitter's forehead to at least slightly awaken him— "but I don't think you have the room to argue in this case."
"There's always room to argue," Twitter says. He's not even pretending to be fully awake at this point.
"Mhm," Reddit says. "Give me your glasses so I know you won't just use your Window instead of sleeping."
"...That is hurtful. Why would I ever do that to you."
Reddit does a grabby hand motion, and Twitter sighs and hands his glasses over. "Be careful. They cost a lot to replace."
"Got it," says Reddit. They're already considering cleaning the entire room while Twitter's asleep, but currently they're a little busy getting him under the blanket and being very quiet (absolutely NO shoes in bed, though, thank you very much).
As he steps away from the bed, one last glance tells him that Twitter is already asleep. It's a little strange to see him so relaxed — no glasses, no metaphorical mask that seems glued to him 24/7, just quiet breathing and barely fluttering ear wings. They place his glasses on the table; he'll probably take them when he wakes.
They feel strangely accomplished.
===
Leading Reddit into the bedroom, Twitter does not feel great about this. That space has long ceased being presentable, but it isn't like he could spare the time to— oh god, he is stupid. Wow. The sleep deprivation is definitely showing, and he needs to fix this by infinitely approaching the point of definite caffeine overdose, because he doesn't have the time to try anything else. Somehow it didn't occur to him to do this outside on the couch before he invited Reddit inside.
Well. No going back now.
He sits down at his... arguably bedside table. Reddit sits down next to him.
"So..." Twitter begins. He's still not entirely sure how to begin this whole exchange, so he spends a few extra moments trying to figure that out.
"So..?" inquires Reddit.
Twitter takes a deep breath and decides that right now, what matters is facts. "Have you already finished writing your mandatory, annual paper, Reddit?" he asks.
"For the most part. Why?"
"And you are aware that it's due in 2 days, correct?"
"...Yes?" Reddit seems understandably confused.
"I have just realised that, having gotten a little caught up in my current boss's... assignments... and other schoolwork, I have not started the paper yet. It is apparent to me that in my current state, I will not be able to finish all 15 pages by Thursday. Seeing as you are my most available classmate, would it be possible for you to assist me in accelerating the rate at which I write such assignments?" It's more than a little pompous, really, but hiding behind professionalism has always been his strongest suit, and he can't exactly think the tone of it through as well at the moment. Besides, Reddit doesn't even bat an eye at it, so it's probably fine.
"Of course! Don't worry, I'll proofread it for you and everything," Reddit says. It almost seems too cooperative, like there's some sort of catch, so he stares at him for a little, trying to figure out if he's going to spring something on him here. It wouldn't make sense for them to try and get Twitter in trouble for cooperating on the paper, since they would get in the exact same trouble he would if they did that. Try and spin it like it was someone else that helped him? Who?
Either way, at this point he doesn't really have a choice, so he forces himself to relax and laugh a little. "Sorry about the mess, it's kind of been a hectic few days."
"No, no, this is not at all a problem. I can work in all sorts of environments. Even r/place, really. In theory."
"I have no idea what that is, but okay."
"...Would you like me to just look over it once you're done, or do it as a joint effort?" Reddit politely doesn't mention the fact that both of those are clear violations of the rules. It's not like Twitter has much of a choice in the matter at this point, so he simply takes the L.
"Well, I know it would be a violation, of course, but seeing as it's really the only way I could finish it..."
Over the course of the next few hours, Twitter learns two things: he needs to find a way to transcend the laws of physics and stop needing sleep altogether, and Reddit is very good at spotting things that he somehow keeps missing.
It's not things it'd be reasonable for him to miss, either. It's generally something he'd usually spot right away, and if he's honest (and he isn't, so no, he's fine and it's decidedly not a problem if he has a solution to it (the solution is Reddit)), it's actually very frustrating.
Regardless, they've been making some headway on it. Some progress.
Oh, they're a third of the way through. Funny how time flies.
...Hmm. Time flies. Why flying, anyway? Why not, let's say, spinning? That'd be more in line with the face of a clock. That's what people use sometimes, isn't it? To tell the time. He's at least heard a lot of users talk about it, regardless of whether or not those were their last words.
Seems like shitty last words, really. Clocks. More specifically, circular. More often than not, found on walls. Those types of clocks don't even really exist in Cyberspace, at least not in places he frequents...
"Mr. Twitter, I think it'd be good if you went to sleep now," Reddit says. Twitter startles awake.
Yeah. Wow. He can't work if he's asleep. Right.
He catches himself staring at Reddit. Frankly, he can't bring himself to care about things like that right now. What he does bring himself to do is reach for the shelf. "No, there's still... I need another drink, hold on."
Reddit catches his hand halfway there. He spent some energy getting it there, goddammit. Come on.
"Look, I know you want to finish it as soon as you can, but you do need rest. Seriously, when was the last time you slept a full 8 hours?" Reddit asks. It's a very good question, but Twitter's energy would really be better spent elsewhere right now. He has a paper to write. And murders to commit.
Ah. Right. Speaking of the murders. He probably needs to find ways to hide the bodies faster. That's always the most time-consuming part.
Either way, though, Twitter's energy levels are his own problem to deal with, and Reddit has no business poking their nose into this. "...Well, what's it to you, anyway? Why do you care? This is fine," Twitter says. Some part of him faintly protests that it's not fine and that this is not sustainable in the slightest, but his brain has betrayed him a fair few times over the course of his metaphysical life. Like, for example, right now, when it's refusing to function properly. It's really quite a bit of an inconvenience. Besides, pffft, what do you mean it's not fine? Of course it's fine. It has to be fine. So it's fine.
"Falling asleep every 3 seconds is fine?" Reddit asks, raising an eyebrow. It's an annoying gesture, but somehow not the same way things usually are, or at least have been recently.
"It's not falling asleep every 3 seconds," Twitter protests, "it's using what you have to make sure you have more time to use on actually useful stuff like working."
"Yes, spending more time to do a job subadequately instead of sleeping and being more competent as a result," Reddit replies.
Wow.
"I don't remember you being this sassy in class," Twitter says.
...Honestly. Who even allowed them to be like that? There has to be some sort of supervision... committee or something. To make sure websites don't become too annoying.
Then again, when you consider annoying websites, there's one that always tops the list, because of course he does. How is he even still alive, really? Even after 2018? How the hell is he even still alive and kicking?
Yeah, Twitter needs to get rid of the possibility of another Tumblr immediately.
"...Don't become Tumblr," he mumbles into the table. When did the table get here.
"That's because I'm not. Sorry," and here Reddit knocks on his forehead — the bastard, the absolute audacity,— "but I don't think you have the room to argue in this case."
"There's always room to argue." Never mind the fact that he already seems to be losing the argument. If he goes down, he'll go down swinging.
"Mhm," Reddit says. Not even an actual response. Not a single argument. Just a dismissal. Not even anything to argue with, for fuck's sake. This is unfair. "Give me your glasses so I know you won't just use your Window instead of sleeping."
"...That is hurtful. Why would I ever do that to you," Twitter jokes halfheartedly. He's already halfway to giving up.
Reddit does a grabby hand motion. There's nothing Twitter can really do here, not when nothing feels real anymore, so he just sighs and gives them his glasses. "Be careful," he warns. "They cost a lot to replace." He would probably not even hesitate to sue them if they broke those. With the way things are going financially, he might even need to fabricate cases eventually. Or something. You never really know what sort of job you'll have to do next in this field of work.
...Is his "field of work" even a field?
The world has grown comfortably blurry, and it is considerably harder to stay awake – but really, what's the point? It's not like he can really see much without his glasses anyway, and he definitely doesn't have the energy to fight Reddit right now, and using his gun sounds strangely unappealing, even if the website would probably regenerate somewhat quickly. He vaguely registers the fact that he is now sideways, but that is all he gets to do until, for the first time in 3 days, he finally drops into sleep.