𝕊𝕖𝕟𝕚𝕠𝕣 𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕖: 𝔸𝕟 𝔼𝕣𝕣𝕠𝕣𝕀𝕟𝕜 𝕊𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕪 ||DISCONTINUED||

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 1. ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴅᴀʏ

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Inks p.o.v

It was Ink's final year of high school. It was an eventful three years that would all come to an end this year.

It was the first day. He lived in a small apartment, alone. He wasn't sure whatever happened to his family and he never really wanted to know anyways. He was afraid that if he found out why he never had a family, it'd hurt worse.

Maybe they didn't want him? Did they abandon him? What if they were a shitty family anyways and it was for the better?

He likes to avoid those thoughts. He hoped that his family was loving and kind. That they didn't have a choice on whether to give him up or not.

But he could never be sure. It was all a fantasy he created in his head.

As he packed his bookbag before he went off to school, he looked around his apartment. The apartment was nothing special, it was small and cramped, too cluttered for its size.

Ink could never bear empty spaces, to an extent. He kind of had to get used to it considering high schools were never as decorative and colorful as Middle and Elementary. Sure, that sounded childish of him but when he was younger he always admired the floor and walls of his Elementary. It was one of the things that sparked his young heart to draw.

The floor was tile, the couch was small, blankets and pillows all over it. The medium-sized TV that barely fits on the stand it sat on. He didn't have a dining table, he didn't have room for it, and he didn't really see the point of it when he could just eat on the coffee table which was in between the TV and couch, which was already filled with cups and crumpled paper. In the back wall of the living room wall where the couch leaned against there was a short hallway where if you go all the way down, there's a bathroom and to the right was his bedroom.

His bedroom was the messiest room in the house, from drawings and paintings pinned on the wall to a shelf full of sketchbooks.

Art supplies and paper covered his desk and floor and with his bed cramped in a corner, the bedsheets and blankets sprawled all over. There were no windows in his apartment.

He finished examining his house, sighing, he knew he had to clean but kept procrastinating, which over time made the apartment messier and messier.

He walked out of the apartment, not getting a chance to have breakfast or else he would miss the bus. It's not like he normally has it anyways, you'd think the short energetic skeleton would have everything together. But, no. Sure, he didn't act the same as he necessarily did at home at school but who really does?

Most people would be embarrassed or ashamed showing how they live their home life. Whether they were messier or not hygienic, which, thankfully, Ink didn't lack. He still knew he had to take care of his hygiene. He could get sick if he didn't and it was too much of a pain to go through all of that. Especially if it's something you could control and is as simple as showering or brushing your teeth every morning and night.

That was beside the point, all that mattered now was that he had a good First Day.

...

The public bus finally stopped near the school, he never liked the school bus. It was always loud and gross and sure the public bus wasn't much better but at least people had some sort of respect or privacy.

He stepped off the bus, his bag on his bag as he crossed his arms around his sketchbook, clutching it like someone was trying to rob him, though there was no threat nearby. The worst thing they could encounter is some school bullies, usually in the lower grades. The seniors were always very careless and Ink could tell that it was, once again, going to happen this year. Most Seniors just minded their own business, ready to get the dreadful year over.