//major tw,, depression, selfharm, attempted suicide.
the darkness in the man's room was almost unsettling, the only thing visible to anyone being the fragile frame of a delicate man, sitting huddled on his bed with his head in his hands.
from a first glace he looked almost unreal, frozen like a wax model in one of the museums that you sometimes visited as a kid with your parents. only they looked more alive than he did. his eyes were tired and dim, any light or life that had previously made them shine so bright had seeped out, long ago exiting his body, leaving him small and vulnerable in the dark mass of his room.
his hair was hanging in loose strands from his head, also lacking the usual volume and fluff that made up so much of his looks. now it just lay there, sad and limp, begging for the relief of shampoo and conditioner. it wouldn't get that privilege for a while.
the man's shirt was crumpled, it looked like it had been on his body for several days judging by the dark circles underneath his armpits and the tear stains leaking down the front. it was grey and it had been a nice shirt. one of the man's favourites.
the bed creaked, the man was rocking backwards and forwards, his head now raised out of arms, the comfort and safety he had felt encased in. he was looking up at the clock on his wall, his face still, betraying no emotion if he was even feeling emotion. the fact was the man had stopped crying days ago, he had felt no need to, drained of signs of sadness now he was just empty. of both food and emotion.
the clock had stopped ticking years ago but the man had kept it mostly out of sentiment and partly because he never got around to taking it down. it was one of the clocks you can buy for a couple of bucks from a market stall. plastic and half broken, with one hand that always ran too fast. his mum had bought it for him, saying the brightness of the metal reminded her of the man's smile. now it just hung there cold and lifeless, the metal rim covered with dust, neglected and broken.
suddenly the man laughed, a long, cold, bitter laugh, devoid of any emotion. he got it. it was a metaphor. he was the clock. how amusing.
it was the first time the man had smiled in weeks. if you could call it a smile. his mouth was stretched out into a leer, his teeth barely visible, glinting through his lips.
his lips.
lips.
george.
not this again. he couldn't do this again. he couldn't sit here forever thinking about george.
george didn't love him. george didn't even care about him. he hadn't called once, hadn't texted or even tweeted at him.
he had got his twitch notifications.
jackbox with karl, quackity and sapnap.
popping off with badboyhalo.
bedwars with tommy.
but not one message. not one message from anyone. no one cared about him.
stumbling to his feet, the man swayed on the spot, the room spinning around him and his mind swirling with colours and noises that weren't there. the sounds of his friends laughing, of minecraft blocks breaking, the purring of patches, his siblings laughing and screaming at him as he teased them as a young kid, of his parent's screaming at each other, his grandmother's last words and of the sound of his mum crying outside of door, him hopeless on what to do.
he could feel arms around him that weren't there, his uncles cold hands around his neck, the warm and safe hug of his mum and dad around him as they embraced him, the last time they ever would, he could feel patches asleep on his lap and george's hot breath on his neck. his lips. his hands. the smell of his hair.
