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“Well, shit.”
Hatemonger drums his fingers against his metallic indigo-colored thigh plate as he thinks, a serious frown on his helm (as per usual, though it’s more pronounced at the moment). At the moment, he’s sitting at his desk in his quarters, though he’s not really doing much.
“What in Space King’s name is this damn feeling…?” He wonders, feeling a light flittering feeling in his chest. It makes a shiver run down his spine, and he winces.
Why now, of all times? Right as he’s feeling really conflicted about something--- no, someone.
Thus, he can’t help but think back to the interaction he had earlier with that specific someone.
---
“What the hell are you doing, you idi---” Hatemonger paused, staring at Chestnut with an unintentionally bewildered look on his helm.
Chestnut stared back at Hatemonger, looking more confused than anything. He shifted his grip on the Hatemace. “I.. what?” He asked.
“You—” He stopped for a second, trying to wrap his head around how in the world this is happening, “You’re holding my Hatemace.”
“Oh.” Chestnut glanced down at the Hatemace. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
Hatemonger’s bewildered expression shifted to his classic frown. “What the hell does that mean? Am I missing something?”
“I’ve been able to hold it since the whole thing with the Coagulators.” Chestnut explained. “Well, without it electrocuting me, that is. That’s actually how I killed the Brood Mother.”
Hatemonger glared at Chestnut, wondering why in the world his Hatemace is allowing this. Yet, despite himself, he couldn’t help but feel a smidgen of respect for the Medicae. After all, most Psycho Warriors don’t have enough hate in them to actually wield the weapon. And, knowing this, it made Hatemonger wonder what Chestnut hates so much to be able to wield it. “…Hm.” He grunts before he reached forward and took the Hatemace from Chestnut. The Medicae released it without a fight.
Hatemonger held the Hatemace with an unnecessarily tight grip, still staring down Chestnut like the Medicae offended him. “That’s… cool, I guess.” Hatemonger grumbled, averting his gaze down towards the floor and internally wincing. Damn it, why did he say that?
“…Really? I thought you would be mad at me for picking it up.” Chestnut replied, looking less confused and more hopeful that Hatemonger might say something actually nice.
“Don’t think that I’m not.” He said. He watched as Chestnut visibly deflated, and he couldn’t help but feel a little bad. Damn feelings suddenly appearing. Makes him mad.
“…Oh.” Chestnut sighed before giving Hatemonger the damn sad eyes that make him die a little on the inside. “Sorry…”
Hatemonger could physically feel his resolve wavering just by merely looking at how defeated Chestnut looked. What in the world is going on with him?? He took a sharp breath before he turned away from Chestnut. “Don’t touch my Hatemace anymore.” And with that, Hatemonger left the room.
---
Hatemonger blinks once, realizing that he spaced out. He glances around his quarters, though he is alone. Well, mostly alone. Hatemace is here.
“You look like you just got told Space King died.” The Hatemace remarks casually at Hatemonger, and the latter throws a venomous glare at the weapon.
“Shut up.” Hatemonger replies sharply, feeling irritated that the Hatemace of all things was able to observe just how conflicted he is feeling.
Yet, instead of shutting up, the Hatemace continues as if it didn’t hear Hatemonger in the slightest. “So.. you wanna talk about what’s on your mind?”
“Absolutely not.” Hatemonger responds.
“You should.” Hatemace eggs on.
“No.”
“Come on, don’t be a wimp.”
“No.”
“I know you want to.”
“Still no.”
“It’s about Chestnut, isn’t it?”
“Fuck off.”
“I knew it.” The Hatemace finishes smugly, and it stares at Hatemonger. “You’re thinking about him. He makes you feel all fluttery, doesn’t he? I can see it, so don’t bother lying.”
“Damn you,” Hatemonger grumbles, still maintaining a glare but averting his gaze from the Hatemace (which is leaning against the wall relatively nearby, in case you’re curious). “Why are you so persistent about this?”
“Because you look like you really want to talk about him.” Hatemace replies, and Hatemonger groans before putting his helm in his hands. Fucking hell, why does Hatemace have to be right? And about this, of all things?
And, lo and behold, Hatemonger relents, “Fine! Fucking fine. Yeah, I’ve been thinking about Chestnut. And I feel all weird inside about it, and I hate it!” He looks over at the Hatemace before continuing, “I don’t even know why, either! I hate him! And I hate the way he looks at me and makes me feel like this!” With a heavy sigh, Hatemonger slouches forward and lays his head on his desk with a thunk.
“…Have you considered that you might like him more now?” Hatemace asks. “Now that you know that he hates something on a level that you hate?”
…
Hatemonger never even considered that as an option.
But now that Hatemace points it out, he can’t unsee how that could be the answer.
Fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
He does not need this right now.
Hatemonger turns his helm towards Hatemace (even though he still keeps his head on the table), and gives the weapon a sad wet cat look. It’s painfully obvious that he does not want the Hatemace to be right, but knows that it’s most likely right anyways.
Hatemace just stares back at Hatemonger for a long moment, and they both stay quiet. Then, the Hatemace speaks up, “Well, I think that I’m going to let you think about this for a while.” And, with that said, it powers off, leaving Hatemonger fully alone.
Another moment passes in silence as Hatemonger thinks. He doesn’t bother to school his expression, instead continuing to look all pathetic and sad. He doesn’t understand why this is happening to him of all people! He doesn’t like Chestnut. Hell, he finds the damn Medicae to be a nuisance more than anything! He doesn’t get why, despite this, merely thinking about the fucker is making him feel all fluttery and bothered.
Hatemonger hates this. So much.