dsmp songshots

dull knives

𝖙𝖗𝖎𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖗/ 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘:
[knife, self-harm (not graphic, graphic but there are details), suicide, abuse (from father to child- verbal and physical), alcohol abuse]

𝖓𝖔𝖜 𝖕𝖑𝖆𝖞𝖎𝖓𝖌:
dull knives - imagine dragons
⇆ㅤ ||◁ㅤ❚❚ㅤ▷||ㅤ ↻

♩✧･ﾟ♬✧･ﾟ♪: *✧♩･ﾟ:*

george was tired.

nick and clay had been in particularly energetic moods earlier that day. the brunette tried his hardest to keep up with them, forcing a smile, his pain invisible to his friends as he held on throughout the day.

the brit remembered been excited to go home and sleep but, much to his dismay, not being able to as nick had suggested the three go out to eat after school.

and he could've said no, he could've dismissed the suggestion and gone home to rest earlier. but he couldn't bring himself to decline, seeing his best friends so happy made him willing to push his own wishes to the side.

as much as the brunette had wanted to say he had fun, he couldn't, he had been tired and, honestly, just excited to get home.

clearly he shouldn't have wished so soon because his day got worse when he walked through the door to his father's dirty little apartment.

when he got home it had already turned dark out, but he remembers that not even the light from the streetlamps and moon did anything to help light up the main room considering, when he walked in, the curtains were all drawn and not a single light was on.

he had pushed his shoes off with his feet, not wanting to make too much noise as he moved through the house.

george remembered shuffling in his socks quietly across the floor, left hand against the wall in a blind search for the light switch.

after coming in contact with the plastic he had flicked it on, wincing at the bright light.

when his eyes focussed he'd become aware of his father sat just a mere meter away on the sofa.

he'd glared at george for a short moment, "where have you been boy?" he had spat, the brunette taking note of the empty whiskey glass in his hand.

george recalled opening his mouth, hesitating slightly, "school sir" he'd begun feeding his father the lie, "there was a late club for maths."

before he could think, george had subconsciously bought his arms to block around his head to protect himself from the incoming object.

luckily for the younger boy, his fathers drunken aim hadn't been the best, and the glass smashed against the wall, only a few small shards hitting against george's side.

"get out of my sight." the older man had spoken sternly, picking the whiskey up by the neck of the bottle, "fucking liar." he'd hissed, glaring at his son as he quickly scurried out the room.

george remembered how he pushed the door to his room shut quietly, taking a deep breath before flinching at the sound of something breaking out in the main room.