Boys Will Be Boys (BXB GAY ONESHOTS)

Nightmare

Pairing: NBAJuice (not a crack pairing- I did my research. Fun fact his last release before his death was Bandit. Another fun fact- Kentrell used to listen to him everyday. Might still do. He did as of 2021 I believe.) I like this ship.
In which Kentrell mourns his boyfriend.
Genre: Angst
⚠️⚠️Trigger warning! Mentions of overdose and drug use
Words: 1933

'Hey.. it's me. Worried bout ya mane. Just.. c-call me back? Yeah? Iight. Talk ta ya then, gang.'

Beep

'Yo! Missed you today! Hey, Symere is getting a little nervous. So could you.. could you like call? Text? Email? Post on social media..? Anything? Iight. See ya, nigga.'

Beep

'H-hey.. hey... hey... I.. i don't know to.. to say? Just.. call someone? We all love you..'

Beep

With a huff, his fingertips glide across the smooth surface of the phone's screen. Enough voicemails for one day.

"None of 'em mean it anyways." The male gruffs under dry breath. He hasn't had anything to drink in.. in a while.

He's not thirsty either.

He's not hungry.

He's.. nothing.

Just existing, bleakly, with XXXTentacion playing in his eardrums.

Besides the sad, dramatic.. often dark and dismal melody and equally emotional lyrics.. nothing else mattered. Not even if his heart ceases to beat. Not even if his lungs cannot expand enough for him to breathe.

Time is a social construction. And when you've been trapped inside your mind, getting high and swallowing memories while with booze- last thing on your mind is time.

"Nobody cares..." a soft breath, blank eyes stare ahead. "I shouldn't be here.." he slowly shakes his head just as a tear crawls down his cheek. "S-so.. so.. alone."

Besides his bed on the nightstand, haphazardly crowded with balled paper- lyrics and songs too emotional to write properly. Or rather to emotional to appreciate. Either way.. either way.

It's small. And shiny. Of dazzling gold and precious pearl. A jar, of sorts. A container that contains.. nothing. Nothing except his heart. His.. his future. His world.

So small. So.. so empty. Nonexistent. Fits.. perfectly in these little urn.

His little urn.

His breath hitches, just the same as the last time he touched it. Empty. He could never bring himself to ask for ashes or anything.

After all he.. he wasn't family. Not really anyways. He was not even a friend. He was a nothing. In the grand scheme of things.. he was a nothing. And how could he.. he even think to ask? Ask of something so rare.. so so.. beautiful from a woman so raw with hurt?

Selfishness. He's still selfish. He still envious. She.. she has something of of him. His family.. they all have something.

He didn't even get an urn. He had to.. buy his own.

It's perfect. The most perfect thing he's ever own. Ever touched.

Leaning back on the mattress, back sinking into it, he cradles with tiny urn. He twists and turns in with care between slightly shakily fingertips as Jocelyn Flores plays on repeat.

"H-hi baby." He sniffles, laughing ironically afterwards. As if he has tears left to cry. Heh. Funny. "Sorry, nun bout you. Just... I sniffled. Ha! Ha.. Ion think I got enough water.. drunk enough water.. ta cry." Gulping, deep breathes. Suddenly warm. A pulsing echoes dully inside his cranium. He feels small. And troublesome. And pathetic. It makes him grimace. "D-don't.. don't worry 'bout meh. 'm sorry."