Hierarchy

-A Shoulder To Cry On-

To live was to survive. It was something Fanny knew. Living in the bottom wasn't easy but it's nothing Fanny could do. Her rebellious attitude due to hating the monarchy landed her that spot. She had to scrape by, haggle prices for basic necessities, steal what she could, it was stressful.

Didn't help that she had another mouth to feed.

Fanny didn't hate Match, she loathed her. Less than Loser but still a lot. Her time on Iance with Match didn't really give her the best impression. However, bringing her in the house didn't really change much. Over time, Fanny started to tolerate her but not that much. Match's personality wasn't really the most compatible with her's.

The matchstick was very snappy and hostile but she would frequently switch to vulnerability and whining. It frankly pissed her off but it was obvious that Match was carrying a lot of baggage. She knew what happened to Pencil, she was there. Yet she didn't understand the full extent of what Match had gone through as she never talked about what had really happened, but it was so hard to comfort someone she barely likes especially when she was a bitch.

Fanny wondered why she even let the matchstick stay with her despite her disdain for her. The answer was simple, she felt pity for her. Especially when she had first ran up in front of her house, bloodied and an absolute wreck.

Now, Match had been using the couch as her bed, it's not like Fanny had any other place for her to sleep. She was red rank, there's not much she could do.

Fanny walked past the couch where she slept.

An intense rumble came from the couch. The fan walked over in confusion before seeing a distraught, asleep Match, the blanket that had previously draped on top of her laid on the floor.

The matchstick was restless. Despite her body being tense her body was shaking. Quiet pained whimpers spilled out of her mouth. Match's fingers were clutching the cushions.

Whatever Match was dreaming about it was not pleasant. It sounded as if she was crying. It worried Fanny.

"Match, wake up," She shook the matchstick. Match didn't seem to hear her. Her shaking seemed more intense.

Fanny's eyes widened, shaking Match harder. "Wake up." Fanny's attempts seemed to have worked.

The matchstick shot up, her breathing was quick. She was gasping for air, it looked like she could finally breathe. She desperately wiped under her bandana as if there were tears but there was nothing there.

"Are you okay?"

"Leave me alone."

"Okay." Standing in place, she made fake footsteps, slowly getting lighter and quieter with each one.

"Wait."

"Yes?"

"Come back."

"Of course I will." Fanny rolled her eyes. Match didn't seem to want to admit it but she was very clingy with her. Just like with her lead-tipped friend.

Match scooted over. The fan stepped on the blanket before plopping down next to her.

She watched the matchstick feel the ground with her foot, her face in a quizzical expression. She heard her mutter an 'oh' before reaching down and grabbing the blanket, wordlessly mouthing something in the process. Match's hands squeezed down on the blanket, gripping on it. Her fingers dug into the soft fabric. Her mouth scrunched downward.

Fanny just stared, before finally speaking. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

"I, like, keep having dreams of Pencil dying. Every time, it's shown differently, but it always ends the same. She dies and I lose my sight and he wins. Even when I'm awake I still can see it, even if all I see is nothing. It's, like, the only image in my mind."