partybeetle :3

very light

(i hope im not overexaggerating poobs pain sorry if i am.)

Once Poob finally got home, their legs couldn't hold them up anymore. They sat down on the floor of their bathroom. The pain of the bloody nose and the bruises had caught up to them, and they felt really week and tired now. They hit their face and body quite hard onto the station floor. And since they practically ran home, they felt dizzy and out of breath.

This couldn't get worse.

Poob managed to change out of their dirty clothes into some shirt they found, and tried cleaning up their nose. It had almost stopped bleeding now. They tried standing up but their legs just couldn't keep up anymore. They sat on their bathroom floor, and just.

Cried.

They gave up and just laid down, hoping to maybe fall asleep and wake up with the pain gone. Maybe sleeping in the bathroom is weird, but they couldn't bring themselves to move anymore.

It was all just too much now, their body was weak, their mind was weak, they couldn't even speak properly anymore.

I'll sleep and it will be fine. It's going to be okay. Go to sleep. Please. Sleep.

.

.

.

Pest sat in his home eating some of the strawberry shortcake Poob made. They kept popping into Pest's brain.

I don't think Poob is alright.

He did not know how to comfort people, and seeing Poob would most likely mean needing to comfort them. Pest didn't want them to annoyingly sob to him. He hates hearing Poob cry. And they'll also keep apoligizing or blaming themselves. He didn't want any of that either.

たわごと. What do I do.

Pest sat and ate the cake slowly, thinking, deciding what to do.

Should he go?

Should he leave Poob alone?

The right thing to do would be to go. But if that wasn't Pest's first thought, if he was unsure of it, then maybe it isn't the right thing.

Poob seemed unwell. Crying and bleeding. They might be worse now. What if they get even more worse over time? No one else will come to see them, since only Pest knows Poob is like this.

Who's going to check on Poob but me?

God. What the fuck do I do.

Pest spent a lot of time thinking. He's usually more quick with decisions. But not this time. Hee spent another 10 minutes, deciding.

He wanted to go. But he didn't want to go.

Fuck.

.

.

.

As Pest left his apartament, he kept thinking what he'll say to Poob. What would he even say? He tried picking whatever sounded good.

He hurried to the station, since the train to Poob's place was arriving soon. He has never went on that train before, he usually avoided it.

He got to the station before the train and waited. He stood near the tracks and waited for a sound.

Not long after, he could hear the train coming from afar.

It stopped and Pest quickly got on and stood near a pole.

The train took off.

Waiting...

Waiting...

Waiting.

My stop is soon...

.

.

.

Knock knock.

...

Knock knock knock.

...

Knock knock knock knock,

"Open the door, Poob."

...

Bang bang.

"I will get in if you don't open the door."

...

Bang bang bang.

...

"That's it."

...

Pest picked the door's lock. As he succesfully unlocked the door, he barged into the apartament. He looked around.

Living room's empty.

Kitchen's empty.

Bedroom's empty.

Bathroom...

The bathroom door wasn't fully closed.

Pest could see Poob's leg on the floor through the gap.

Shit.

He opened the door swiftly.

And there they were.

Laying on the floor, with some white shirt on, their hoodie stuffed in the sink. And their face covered in dried blood.

Fuck.

Pest kneeled down next to them. He checked Poob's pulse.

It was normal.

They're alive.

Obviously, right? They couldn't have died.

He shook them slightly.

"Poob."

...

He shook them again.

"Hey."

He shook them harder.

Well fuck.

He looked around the bathroom. Something to clean Poob's nose up.

He cleaned off the blood softly with some wet toilet paper. Their nose had stopped bleeding by now.

They had a lot of bruises too. Their face mainly.

He found some antiseptic and treated their bruises.

They were still asleep. Or passed out.

I don't know.

When he cleaned them up he shook them again.

"Wake up now."

He shook them again.

I guess not.

...

Pest lifted Poob up gently.

They're

very light.

He carried them slowly to their bedroom and placed them down in their bed.

He wanted to leave. He wanted to stay.

Pest stood in the bedroom's doorway and looked at Poob.

...

"It's not your fault."

.

.

.

Pest waited for his train back home.

I'm such an idiot, aren't I.