Mortis (8-bitRyan, Dawko, DAGames, Razzbowski, Baz fanfiction)

Prologue

There was something magical about it, to say the least. The sky outside was beautiful. The sun was shining, creating a red and orange glint over the horizon. It was darker than usual, but it has been like that for the last few days. Apart from cars going around, birds singing their happy tunes, and someone screaming further down the street, it was a quiet morning. The ground was wet and moist from yesterday's rain. If it was a bit sunnier, you could even see a rainbow.

It was 5:30 when Ryan woke up. His alarm was going off, blasting his favorite song, and immediately fell into silence when he swiped right. He stayed in bed for a long moment, not wanting to get up. His bed sheets were so soft against his skin, and it was so, so warm. He would have fallen back to his slumber if it wasn't for a man outside screaming something about kids these days.

He sighed as he sat up and yawned. He stayed like that for a few moments, just looking into the white wall of his bedroom. He finally moved when his bladder gave him a sign that he should get going. Getting up and cracking his hurting knuckles, he slowly crawled into the bathroom.

After flushing the toilet and washing his hands, he looked into the mirror. He looked tired, as always nowadays. His hair was a mess, a nest of brown and blonde strands mangled and tangled together like a fur ball or very thin tentacle monster. It was falling into his dark brown eyes at one end and wouldn't stop standing up on the other.

His eyes wouldn't fully open and they still had some sort of haze over them making his vision blurry and slightly spinning. He closed them tightly to push away the migraine clawing at his head. After muttering a set of light swears he washed his face with cold water to fully wake up and at least try fixing his hair. Unsuccessfully. For a bit longer time than a while, he thought about going to shower but dismissed it due to his lack of energy and motivation. At least he brushed his teeth, maybe.

He didn't bother changing from his pajamas, staying in his short-sleeved black T-shirt and black shorts, he went down to the kitchen.

He took a deep pained breath as he walked around a picture frame hanging above the stairs. The frame was broken, pieces torn off and forcefully stabbed, the glass broken. The picture itself seemed to be burned, torn, and drawn over. There were four people in the picture, one, Ryan himself, making ridiculous faces and seemingly having fun. He was wearing a pink hoodie and his glasses. Next to him, hands around Ryan's shoulders was a taller man with brown curly hair and black glasses, his face was nearly cut open by his wide smile as he laughed. His face was torn off the picture but taped back with a piece of tape. Next to them was a taller man, his face scratched by a black marker and seemingly stabbed with it too. Even after so much destruction, the frame still held proudly and strong.

Ryan made himself two cups, one full of coffee, and the other full of tea. He put the kettle on and opened his fridge only to close it again for his lack of hunger.

He visibly jumped and tensed when the kettle went off and after acknowledging the situation he glared at it. He poured the hot water into the cups and burned himself in the meantime. He quickly put everything down and clutched the table taking a deep breath to steady himself. He took a rag from under his sink and put it under cold water pushing it onto his burned hand. He tried again, pouring his drink, this time without any problems. He sat at the table, staring somewhere, his drinks cold and he still didn't move.

He looked at the time and cursed himself, it was 7 a.m. and he was supposed to record today. He took one of the cups and drank from it, he quickly spat it out when he noticed that his coffee was sour because he forgot to pour his milk in. He took another deep breath and poured it into the sink. Standing up he took his second cup, a cold green tea, and climbed stars into his studio, sitting down in his chair.