Helluva Boss Oneshots

"Fizzarolli's Past (Part 3)"

If Fizzarolli knew one thing, he knew he didn't care. About what? Even he didn't really know for sure. About fucking everything. About preforming. About Cash Buckzo. About the flips. About the summersaults. About the stupid trapeze tricks. About the poorly written comedy sets that he now understood. About the applause.

About himself.

He was 16 now. And how he wished he could go back to the wonder and whimsy he had when he was 8. He missed the days when he was young and always ready to preform. He missed the days were everything didn't seem so sad and dark, and like he wasn't trapped in a pit of unhappiness and hopelessness.

He started to hate himself. Hate the audience. Nothing mattered to him. His self hatred was obvious even in just the way he walked. His once amazing posture slowly turned slouched over the last 8 years. His voice didn't have its old confidence or proudness anymore.

He refused to look at himself in mirrors. He couldn't. He felt the worst and most negative emotions and feelings arise when he would be near his reflection. He wanted to punch the guy looking back at him.

That stupid asshole in the mirror. That dumbass. That disgrace. The person who was sold by his fucking parents. The imp who had been exploited. That stupid asshole. That dumbass. That disgrace.

He would find himself just wanting to break down after every show. Not out of pain, but out of his depressive state of mind

He believed that any look he got was out of hatred or pity. Any laugh was about him. And not in the clowny way he wanted.

Fizzarolli would routinely take walks around the circus tents, trying to walk off his feelings.

But Fizzarolli didn't want to walk. He wanted to scream. So, he resorted to sitting behind, "The Family Tent" as Cash Buckzo started calling it, and staring angrily at the stars. Why the fuck did he feel like this? Was it hormones? Sure. That's what it fucking was.

He was so lost in his mind that he didn't notice Blitzo walking up to him.

"Hey," Blitzo said, sitting next to Fizzarolli. Blitzo then scooted right next to him, staring at the other imp.

Fizzarolli looked over as Blitzo just stared at him. Blitzo had a sort of...knowing smirk on his face. As if he knew something that he refused to tell Fizzarolli. The other imp's tail wagged, and he was holding two envelopes. He also had a red paper bag with green tissue paper coming out of the top of it.

"Hey," Fizzarolli said with very forced enthusiasm.

"I...um...noticed that you've been down lately, and-" Blitzo started before getting cut off by an angry Fizzarolli.

"The fuck does that mean?!" Fizzarolli seethed, hissing through clenched teeth. His hands curled into fists by his side.

Blitzo held his hands up defensively, still holding onto the envelopes. He had set the bag between the both of them, almost like a barrier.

"I just...I could tell that something was off with you. I've known you since we were kids, Fizz. I know when something is off with you," Blitzo explained, not looking at Fizzarolli. A small...what was that on his face? Eyeshadow? Well whatever it was, it was dusting his cheeks.

"Well, anyways, I...got you something. Just for us," Blitzo rambled, snapping Fizzarolli out of his thoughts. Blitzo gave one of the two envelopes to Fizzarolli. He looked down at the other envelope resentfully, and shoved it into his back pocket.

Fizzarolli slowly opened the envelope. Inside was a green ticket, no bigger than Fizzarolli's hand. Fizzarolli looked up at Blitzo confused. Blitzo nodded down at the ticket.