Ship: Foolish x Sam x Ponk
Type: Angst
TW: Eating Disorder, Depression, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts
This is not a light domestic couple angst, if you don't think you can read it please don't. I'm here for anyone if you need to talk.
No one is judging you if you can't read this, take care of yourself.
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As soon as he clicked end stream the wide smile on his face fell. He sat still, staring at his monitor, no thoughts running through his mind.
Silence, he sat in silence, waiting for something to happen in his head. When it did, he immediately wished it hadnt.
Why can't I feel anything anymore?
Foolish sighed, looking up at the ceiling. Numb, he was numb. He wouldn't admit it to himself, not now, probably not ever, but he was numb.
The cuts on his arms were fresh. Why were they there if not to combat sadness and intrusive thoughts?
One reason, They were there for those brief seconds when he felt pain. He cherished the moments every day when he went into the bathroom and dragged the silver blade over his wrists again and again.
When it made him wince and tears prick the corners of his eyes he enjoyed, no, needed, the feeling.
He needed it, needed it as a reminder he was still alive.
He was almost a machine, dragging the metal over his flesh as if he was programmed to do so, never deeper or crooked.
He would return to reality to clean them, hooded eyes looking at his torn up skin, no emotion anymore.
He would roll his hoodie sleeves down and shuffle to his bedroom, climbing under the sheets and either sleeping or staring at the wall for hours on end.
His boyfriends didn't know, how could they? They didn't live together. They hung out a lot, well, Sam and Ponk hung out a lot.
Foolish had excuses, each less believable than the last. Excuses to cover up the fact that he couldn't handle to put on his act again for that day.
Sometimes he laid there, wondering if he should tell them, always falling asleep before a decision was made.
He desperately wanted to run into their arms and tell them his problems, tell them everything.
He desperately wanted them to notice before he told them, to ask "Are you okay?", even if Foolish would say yes every time.
He missed them, he really did, but he was tired. Too tired to even put on his act.
Maybe he didn't have to put it on. He could just say he was tired, like he was going to fall asleep, not fall away.
He wasn't doing it because he wanted to, no, he was doing it so they didn't break up with him. He couldn't handle that, he could barely handle life as it was.
So he found himself on Sam's couch, emotionless, eyes drooping as he fought off sleep.
Maybe he was tired, tired like he was going to fall asleep despite having slept the entirety of the day after his stream until he left for Sam's.
Underneath their blanket he was squeezing his forearm in a death grip, trying to draw a wince. His grip was tight enough to leave bruises but he wasn't wincing, no tears welled in his eyes.
He felt dead, he wanted to be dead.
His boyfriends were focused on the movie, a movie Foolish couldn't bring himself to pay attention to.
Sleep, that sounded nice. Sleep and not wake up sounded better, not that he was even thinking that.
He really wasn't thinking of anything. He was a robot that got turned off, turned off with the bruising grip on his arm.
He wouldn't know if someone was talking to him, he was so zoned out. He thought of something, the second thing he's thought of in the hours he's been awake.
I want to cut.
"I'm going to the bathroom."
He sighed and pulled the blanket off his body, standing up and walking out of the room.
He locked the door behind him and dug through the drawers, looking for a blade.
He didn't find one.
He walked back and sat down, disappointed. At least he felt something. He would rather be disappointed than nothing at all.
Sam and Ponk ate dinner. Foolish sat there, poking at his food. He didn't have an appetite. He couldn't remember the last time he ate.
He claimed he ate before he arrived, a believable story since neither of them had been in his house, specifically the kitchen.
Empty. He didn't have a single thing to eat in his house.
They had noticed how thin he was, how could they not?
They felt it under his hoodie as they cuddled, felt his ribs sticking out.
They were back to watching tv on the couch, Foolish staring blankly at it, the same stare he held with his wall in his bedroom.
"Foolish, are you okay?"
He looked down into his lap. He opened his mouth and closed it again, no words coming out.
Why was he struggling to say he wasn't? Why couldn't he say the single word that would help him?
"I- um, yes."
Liar.
He left that day, feeling an emotion he couldn't remember the last time he felt.
Sadness. He was sad.
Why couldn't he have said no?
When he found himself in a call with Sam after a stream, his mouth spoke words before he even knew he did.
"Sam." Foolish said, looking at Sam, both their cameras on. "I'm tired."
"Then go to bed baby, it's okay."
"No, not that kind of tired."
"What?"
"I'm tired. I don't want to be here anymore."
Sam looked up from his phone and looked into his boyfriend's eyes. They were dull, lifeless, emotionless.
"I, bye Sam, love you."
Goodbye, did he mean that goodbye? The I'll never see you again goodbye?
He didn't, he didn't but oh how he wanted to, how he wish he did.
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Thank you for reading and remember to hydrate, eat, and take care of yourself <3
