Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
Tock.
Ti-stop spACING OUT YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE.
Your name is [F/L Name], and your self-control must be at unbelievably high levels.
Your peculiar boy-friend here, Gamzee, has been doing nothing, ABSOLUTELY NOTHING, besides sit in one of the two bean-bags in his room and stare at his wall. You sat next to him, staring at him and anticipating the moment when he would snap out of that trance he was in and tell you what was on his mind.
"Gamzee?" you ask, waving a hand in front of his face. After a second, he slowly begins to turn to you, a look of horror, realization, and fascination on his face.
"Eggs are just liquid chickens."
"Gamzee, wha-"
"Time doesn't exist. Clocks exist."
"The hel-"
"Ice-cubes float in their own motherfucking BLOOD." At this point, he grabbed your shoulders, leaning forward and cuddling into you.
"Gam-"
"What would happen if you put a ceiling fan on a wall?" You put your hands on his head, running your fingers through his hair.
"It's time to stop, Gamzee." It was silent for a second, and he snuggled you tighter, clearly emotionally distraught from all these realizations.
"I'm sorry, sis." You put a finger on his lips, and snuggle him just as tightly as he's snuggling you.
"Get more sleep."
A MOTHERFUCKIN' CARNIVAL CLOWN KILLER!!
(hOnK HoNk! (o:
Why is the third hand on a clock called the second hand?
These are perhaps just things we will never understand, dear Gamzee.
OH MAN
WHAT IF
WHAT IF GAM IS A TUMBLR-R PERSON LIKE US