~•Talking to the moon•~

Chapter Two

Third person's view

A brunet walked through a grassy field, letting the blades of the grass hit his bare feet, enjoying the little sparks it sent throughout his body as he passed by.

His brown hair was getting pushed back by the gentle wind, tousling it as he pushed forward, the white moonlight shining brightly down at him.

His eyes looked up to the moon, searching for every single crater that the moon owned, loving how the moon showed every single imperfection that it had with no sense of shame.

He wished to be like the moon, shining down brightly at others and letting his imperfections show. Honestly, he knew everyone wanted to be like it.

The moon was such a good foundation for him, him always looking at it to see its natural beauty and glow. He not only appreciated the moon for it's physical appearance and metaphor, but also for listening to his thoughts when no one would.

He would say the moon was his best friend, but that would mean replacing a very important part of his life and he could never do that.

The glasses the brunet had was placed in front of his eyes, the moonlight showing the eyes that held many emotions behind the glasses. Unberknowst to all, the brunet was very much affected by the whole situation that was happening inside his life right now, it pained him when others believed that he was alright and well when in reality, he wasn't. He was far from fine.

He was broken.

Emotionally, that is. His mental state was okay and so is his physical state, but the fact that he felt so unhappy with everything at the moment really made him think that his mental health was slowly decreasing, making him turn rather insane. His dreams were a good reason for why he believes so.

He usually never dreamed, always sleeping and waking up with no rememberance of it.

Now, however, is a different talk. He always had this dream where it was fine for a moment before everything turned haywire. It may be a mirror of his life or thoughts, but he doubted it. It was too chaotic to be called his thoughts and too plain to be a mirror of his life.

An empty sigh escaped him as he sat down on the middle of the field, letting him collect his thoughts to talk to the moon once again. It was a habit he picked up after he lost a dear friend. He wasn't dead, just... Unreachable.

The grass gently swayed with every thought of his, hand reaching down to twirl a single blade on it. He was finally reaching the limit for his emotions, but he got himself calmed down, bottling some up once more. He couldn't be bothered with being heard by the other members of the smp in case they passed by. He would never live that down.

His gaze landed on the moon once again, one hand reaching up to place his glasses on top of his head instead of covering his glossy eyes.

Yes, glossy eyes. He was close to crying and him bottling up his emotions were not helping, but he would never dare admit that to himself.

But then... He decided to let go, letting his tears fall down silently as he looks up at the moon.

"Have I done something wrong...?" He asked the moon, thinking it was his fault for letting his friend fall in such a horrible way.

Maybe it was? He could've talked to him about it. Could've persuaded him to not continue his plans in destroying the country, but no. He kept silent. He knew his friend was wrong, but he chose to stay silent. For what? His own peacefulness? The brunet knew himself that he was far from neutral.

Why didn't he help him? Was it because he was scared of losing him because of stating his opinion or was it because he wanted to see the world burn in front of him?

Maybe that's what wrong with him.

Honestly, he wouldn't have cared if the country fell. I mean, it already had.

He just wished there was a way for the country to fall without it bringing his best friend along. It was painful to hear the news from two of his other friends.

He was blissfully unaware of what happened to his best friend at first until his two other friends saw him and told him.

He immediately wished he never listened. It hurt him.

It hurt how he was unable to go near the prison he was in. How was unable to see him.

He wasn't banned from seeing him. It was just painful to look at him. And besides, the doubts he had for himself weren't helping. He wanted to fix that first before going inside the prison and meeting his deranged friend. He wanted to help him and he knew he should fix himself first to help him.

When his question was carried by the wind, no response being heard from a mile away, he let out a sob as he looked up at the moon once again, his shoulders shaking as he desperately tries to wipe his tears away, only for it to be replaced by new ones that fell freely from his eyes.

It was impossible to stop it. The man's heart was too broken to store it again. He would have to rebuild the pieces again to do so.

His friend didn't even say goodbye to him. Never told him of any plans he wanted to do. He could've helped him escape this fate, yet he was too late.

Too caught up with his own needs that he didn't see his suffering friend.

Yes, he blamed it all on himself. As he should. He knew how influenced his friend was when it came to him and vice versa. He wouldn't deny it. He would go to the ends of the earth if his friend did and told him to. He wouldn't regret a thing.

The many memories he had of his friend lingered inside his mind like broken shards of glass, it poking his brain and heart and making it hurt all over again.

And so, he let's himself talk to the moon once more, letting his thoughts run free from his brain to his mouth.

It was his last resort from insanity. He couldn't bare it if he turned to the dark side. He's seen how it ended and he didn't want to be part of those people that fell from grace. That fell for power.

He just couldn't.

All he wanted was to get his friend back.