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He’d been meaning to ask OJ for some advice about tablecloths, but he’d been unable to find him anywhere. That’s when he started to panic.
He began to search all the empty guest rooms, one by one, until finally he came to the last, unopened, and ominous door.
He had glared at the nameplate on the wooden door for some time.
The name “BALLOON” glared back.
Paper sighed and turned the door handle slowly, and hesitantly.
Shards.
Hundreds and hundreds of tiny pieces of glass.
That is the first thing that Paper saw when he opened the door of the empty apartment.
“Shit.” Paper recoiled.
The room was freezing cold, enough that the windows in the room had started to frost over, leaving enough natural light for OJ’s unmoving and cracked body to be just barely visible in the dark room.
“Shit, OJ, what happened?” Paper tried to say, but he sounded choked and hardly intelligible even to himself. He rushed over to his friend’s side, frantically trying to get him upright. Orange juice had seeped into the carpet.
Please. Don’t be dead. Don’t be dead.
“OJ, just say something.” Paper sobbed. He didn’t know what to do. If he left to find someone who did, what were the chances that he would still be there when they got back?
“P-paper?” OJ mumbled. He coughed wetly. “What are you doing here?”
Paper didn’t respond. Instead, he held one of OJ’s hands gently.
“I was looking for you.”
“Oh.” OJ’s half-lidded eyes fluttered shut. “Okay. Well, you found me.” He smiled.
Paper didn’t.
“OJ. Please, just keep your eyes open for a second,” Paper said quietly. “I need you to tell me how I can help.”
“I don’t…” OJ tried to inhale, but his breath stuttered. “Just, make sure to clean all this up. I don’t want Balloon’s new room to have stained carpets.”
“No…” Paper laughed humorlessly. “You still don’t get it, do you?”
OJ just looked up at him, tired and guilty.
“You aren’t your hotel, OJ! You are somebody- who can expire! The hotel can’t. It’s just a stupid, idiotic building!”
OJ winced.
“I didn’t mean- I’m not saying that the hotel is bad! I just think as the hotel’s caretaker, you don’t take care of yourself nearly enough,” Paper said quickly. “Please just tell me what I can actually do. How do I help you ?”
“You can’t, Paper. Not with MePhone gone, and not with me bleeding out on Balloon’s carpet. I messed up; probably just screwed in something wrong, and ended up with a big piece of metal flying at me from above. I was sitting here for so long, being so sure that I’d die alone in a dark, cold, room, freezing over until I couldn’t feel anything anymore. But now you’re here, and all I can think about is how glad I am to see you.”
“OJ… Stop.”
“Really- I’ve never been more grateful for you. Paper, you’ve always been there for me. Even when I don’t think I deserve it.”
“OJ, you aren’t dying.”
“Well, that’s news to me.”
“OJ, MePhone’s coming back. He’s done with season 3. He can recover you.”
“Oh sick”
OJ dies.