Graffiti Hearts

8.

"I can do whatever the fuck I want, Dream! So fuck off, and go fuck yourself over!" Nick yelled, turning his body away from Dream on the tangled bed.

"Nick, I am trying my fucking hardest to be as patient with you as possible," Dream said, as he covered his face with his hands in annoyance. He was pacing around Nick's room, the room -of course- still in its horrible state. "You are really pushing my buttons. You were starting to get back to normal, but now all of a sudden, you took so many damn steps back." Nick rolled his eyes at Dream, scoffing.

"So, what? I'm still here aren't I?" Dream was about to say another set of words, but paused, his mouth slightly parted at Nick's words. The blonde's fists clenched, his eyes were glassy. Nick glared at Dream, not feeling a hint of sympathy or guilt for the man at the moment. Just as Nick was about to say another set of rude words, Dream left the room. He slammed the door closed, making Nick jump.

Nick groaned, covering his face with guilt. Why did he say that? The raven buried himself under the covers, hugging his pillow tightly.

The interaction between them both was horrible. Now, in every encounter they have, they would be arguing. Either over the most useless things or Nick's well-being. You could hear them both yelling loudly at each other from outside the apartment door. It was as if both of them were on thin ice with one another. One wrong step and everything may fall apart. Years of building up trust in each other were about the break in only weeks.

The raven sat up. He threw the pillow off the bed, hearing it crash into the nightstand. A glass cup fell from there, colliding with the floor. Nick hugged his knees, sniffling as he was about to cry. He rubbed his eyes aggressively, seeing colorful spots in his vision.

He forced himself to get up from his bed, grabbing his phone. He took off the case, a worn key lying inside. He grabbed the key, proceeding to unlock his special drawer. Pages of sketches were there, untouched by his hand forever. He grabbed one, scanning his eyes over it. It was one of his recent ones. It was somewhere up in the city.

He frowned at it. Wait. Now he remembered.

This one was ruined by Punz. Luke? He didn't know anymore nor did he care.

He felt loath rise up in him, and his own mind who prized these pages, told him to rip it apart. So, Nick complied. His hands ripped the page, shredding it into tiny pieces. He dumped it onto the floor, grabbing another page. Now, he was in blind rage. He tore more and more, feeling everything except relief. Too many scraps of paper were littered on the floor, memories shredded away with simple motions.

Too many of these pages of sketches that were out in the city were ruined by him. That stupid blonde.

Maybe he should've killed him.

Nick paused his aggressive motions, his hands still. This is what was exactly tormenting his mind.

The fact that there was at least a small part of him that wished Punz was dead. That he wished he would disappear. To not make anymore stupid problems in Nick's life. Everything was his fault. Nick and Dream being more distant was his fault. Nick being like this now, was his fault.

"Fuck!" Nick screamed, slamming the drawer closed. He grabbed the bits of sketches from the floor and dumped them on his bed. He rummaged through his bag that he normally takes when he goes out, finding a lighter. He quickly put the scraps into a random dirty container. He swung his bedroom door open, going pass the living room to the balcony. He carried the container and the lighter with him.

Humid air brushed at him, making him feel icky when he opened the door. He put the container down on a dusty table. He fished the lighter out of his short's pocket. He flicked his thumb over the wheel. A flame rose, small waves of heat radiating off of it. He threw the lighter into the container, not caring to probably have to buy a new one.