Okay Im all for Bim getting gentle love and bim being happy and yes but also consider this: a terrified Bim, alone with Dark in his office, and it feels like dark has him on a stage, and its a different kind of stage fright, it feels like his every move is being scrutinised and every word being picked apart and put back together the way dark wants. ( ahhh i also sent that malfunctioning google one im glad you liked it thank you so much )
(Why must yall torture my soft plant boy like this?? Also i l o v e d the malfunctioning google ask, i had a blast writing it!)
Bim’s rarely alone with Dark, and even when he is it’s only in fleeting moments where they share no words before Wilford appears to usher him away. He prefers it that way, Dark scares him in a way the Host never did, with his cold eyes and disinterested sneer.
But now he’s alone with Dark in his office and though the door’s at his back, he feels cornered. Dark hasn’t looked up at him yet, seems to be reading something at his desk and Bim dares not interrupt. He tries to keep still, tries to keep his fingers from twitching or his foot from tapping.
But his anxiety itches at his skin, sinks it’s claws into his heart and he can’t stop his eyes from flicking from the door to the floor to Dark and back. He doesn’t want to be here any longer than he has to but he doesn’t want to risk looking impatient and angering Dark. He shudders at the thought.
And then Dark finally looks up and catches his eye and Bim feels his heart crawl up his throat. He stands, slowly, and Bim feels his stomach drop when he comes closer.
Bim’s gotten very good at masking his anxiety, shoving scaredy Bim into the back of his mind and hiding him behind charming charismatic Bim who gets him through his show through a haze of applause and competition. Charming charismatic Bim doesn’t seem to exist anymore, not with Dark’s sharp, assessing eyes roaming from his shiny black shoes to his neatly coifed hair.
It feels like he’s being picked apart, like Dark can see every inch of imperfection, the tiny scuffs on his shoes, the wear on his suit, the way some of his hair slips out of place. He stays stock still, tries to make himself smaller, hunches in his shoulders and ducks his head.
Bim feels like he’s at his first audition again, lump in his throat so thick he could hardly speak, palms sweaty enough to lose his grip on the microphone, voice too soft and with so much stuttering he sounded like Google. He’d hated that feeling, hates it still, of being scrutinized within an inch of his life and the way Dark looks at him, it’s like he’s carefully considering in what order to put him together again.
There’s so much tension in his shoulders they hurt and Dark’s opening his mouth to speak, red eyes still cataloguing his every feature when there’s a knock at the door. Bim nearly chokes on his heart, jumping so badly his glasses slip off his face so he has to scramble to catch them before they hit the floor.
Dark looks agitated, but calls for the door to open. Wildord is there with a cheery smile and the relief that floods Bim at the sight of it is nearly overwhelming. He says Bim’s needed for a meeting and he’s more than happy to hurry away from Dark to have Wilford’s arm over his shoulder. He’s a little surprised to find the Host waiting outside for him too, but he shoots him a little smile and they make their way to the studio.
Only the Host senses Dark’s displeased frown.