Daybreak [Weak Hero] Alex Go X Reader X Wolf Keum

3. Him All Alone

When darkness creeps into the sky, you can see the shadows of a dwindling day inching into the room.

You sit hunched at your desk, a pen in hand and a notebook open before you.

Typed notes with yesterday's date sit neatly in a pile, courtesy of your teachers. You had finished all the assignments that were given today, so the rest of the evening was yours-- and yet, you couldn't seem to make anything of it, like always.

A laptop lay haphazardly on the bed as if thrown there. Papers and sheets littered the floor, a mixture of both typed notes and haphazard writing progressing into black and white scrawl.

You tightened your hold on the pen until your knuckles were paler than the paper. The other hand tapped impatiently on the table, waiting for something while staving off something else.

A mess, and you couldn't fix it. You couldn't get the wheel turning and you've been fighting it all night, but you have to think back on it again.

Purple hair, hazel eyes, red blazer.

It was like a curse. When you swallow, it feels like you're choking.

"Ah, crap. Seriously?" You chuckle lowly, but its stale and drops like deadweight in the air.

A hand threads into your hair and you pull at it a bit, as if that'd help relocate lingering thoughts find a way back into confinement, as if it'd pull things out of your head that mattered.

You drop the pen and fold your arms up, dropping your head to rest on the desk. You peer at the phone beside your head, and tap the screen.

It lights up your dim room, and in the split second it takes your eyes to adjust to the brightness, there's a glimmer of hope.
But there's nothing on the screen. No texts, no reminders, alarms, or missed calls. Vastly empty, making room for vast longing.

The sunset was gone now, reduced to a few straying rays of light. You flip over the phone and turn to the window. You wonder how you'd seem to someone looking in. Would you seem lonely? Could they tell you hadn't felt whole since then?

Thoughts running in a circle, you can almost hear it again.

The beeping of a heart monitor. The clicking of shoes on white tile. Feigned hope and lies draped in white coats, hushed whispers, as if it didn't matter that you knew the truth too.

Their words to you were no more than empty promises, false reassurances. They swam lazily, leisurely in your mind, giving you hope then snatching it away. The words live in your heart, reside there. Won't let you forget.

His face plays in your mind, and you morbidly wonder what expression he made before the impact. Was he scared? Did he see it coming?

Eyes squeeze shut when you can feel the tears collecting again, pooling and forcing their way out in the sneaky way tears do.

Your hand clenches and unclenches, and you raise it and drop it again on the table, weakly, like the world's shittiest attempt to muster anger.

"Why him?" You wonder, and hate the way your voice sounds fragile. "Why did it have to be him?"

The scent hits you again. Burning tire, sporadic blinking of a traffic sign, lights shooting through the night too much too late for you to do something. Anything.

"Haha, shit."

The room is still. Nothing moves.
An occasional car passes a ways from you, and the distant whirr of wheels on asphalt echoes through the nighttime air. It's accompanied by a streak of headlights approaching, then fading into darkness.