Fun fact! Age regression can be a trauma response! That's basically what this is.
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Welcome to Whitespace.
You've been living here for as long as you can remember.
The young, pale boy yawns. He rolls over onto his side, curling up. He bites the collar piece of his hoodie, tugging it up.
He groans quietly, slowly sitting up. He looks around the white expanse he currently lived in.
His white blanket, the only thing besides his greatly oversized hoodie that kept his tiny, thin body warm. His laptop, full of dumb little cartoons and games. His sketchbook, he wasn't the greatest artist, but his friends liked his drawings. A tissue box, it seemed to never run out of tissues. And Mewo, his beloved black cat, and the inspiration of his hoodie.
Suddenly, a loud clattering rings throughout Whitespace, effectively startling the boy into tears. Mewo trots over, rubbing her snoot against his cheek, licking away his tears. The boy sniffles, wiping his cheeks dry. He pets the kitten, giggling quietly as she continues to lick his face.
After a minute, she yawns and lays down beside him, promptly falling asleep. The boy sighs. He didn't want to find out what the clattering was. It could hurt him. But he has to, the red hands seemed awfully excited he sees what it is. The red hands would never hurt him, they were too sweet.
The boy slowly stands up, wobbling slightly. Once he gains his balance, he begins to walk around, trying to find whatever the fallen thing was.
One of the red hands slithered over to him, grabbing his hand and leading him to the object. This was the furthest he's wandered from the safety of his blanket. He began to feel slightly uncomfortable.
Another red hand makes its way over to them, gently petting the boy's head. He relaxed slightly, allowing the red hands to lead him on.
They stop, one of them gesturing to the ground. He looks down, his gaze meeting a shiny steak knife. He whimpers, watching as one of the red hands grabs it. It brings it closer to him, another takes his hand and holds it out.
The knife handle is set in his palm. He grips onto it, as if it was always supposed to be in his hand. He stares intently at it, allowing the red hands to lead him back to the safety of his blanket. He sits down, gaze still glued to the knife.
This was his. It belonged to him now.
He hears a click. He looks over to the white door. It was unlocked. He looks over to the red hands. One of them gives him a thumbs up, the other nods its balled up fist yes. The boy's eyes light up and he rushes to the door, carefully with the knife he held.
He opens the door, waving goodbye to the hands, who wave back at him.
He closes the door behind him, turning to see his friends. They all light up once noticing his arrival. "Omori! You're here!" Aubrey chirps, happily rushing over to her little friend. She hugs him gently, "Oh, we've missed you!"
"Awww mannnn!! C'mon Aubrey! You messed up the cards!" Kel shouts upsetly. "And I was winning too…"
"Now, now Kel. There's no need to make a fuss over cards." Hero shushes gently.
"You're only saying that cause you were losing." Kel groans. Hero sighs, "Omori, do you want to play cards with us after I clean this up?"
Omori nods, rushing over to them with Aubrey. Hero chuckles and begins cleaning the cards. Once he gathers them all and flips over any backwards cards, he shuffles and deals them out.
