i feel your arms around Me and for an instant,i feel needed.

It was late at night, yet mephone was still wide awake. lying in his bed, he continued to take shallow breaths, wiping the tears that dripped down his face.

he couldn't even handle one day of socializing. he had finally chosen to leave his room, only to run into trophy. the rest is pretty simple to assume. So, he ran back into his room, opting to rot in his bed once again. but this time it was different, his head felt heavier, and it felt like a rock was lodged in his throat. was this this equivalent of a 'panic attack'?-well, for as close as you can get to one as a robot.his vision blurry and his balance at its worst, he stumbled to the floor of his closet,digging into a box for a certain piece of silver metal. once in between his fingers, his mind finally pushed away all logical and reasonable thoughts, only wanting to end the panic his systems couldnt handle.

but did he really wanna do this? surely it wont be enough,so he had already gotten the pills from the same box that he was prescribed for sleeping. But what if he lived to regret it? what if he lived, and he had to deal with the consequences? what if. he didn't have to worry about that, if he made sure he wouldn't survive. after-all, its not like he hasn't done this before. they do say that you learn from your mistakes, anyway. lost in his thoughts, he hadn't even realized he started slicing away at his arm until he smelled fresh oil. he probably already hit an important wire or something. he continued to do this for a good 10 minutes,until his head felt fuzzy and heavy. taking quick,shallow breaths, mephone reached for the bottle of pills-only for his phone to ring. OJ was calling him..in the middle of the night? he reluctantly sets the pills down,trying to not gag from the stench of oil.

"O..OJ..-?" he whispered, his head spinning. he couldn't really understand what OJ was saying,as it sounded muffled, but something along the lines of "mephone, are you okay?" and so on. he can only mutter incoherent nonsense, and a simple,clear 'help.' and then he let his head hit the floor with a loud thud, the oil fumes on the ground filling his lungs.

mephone didn't want to die. sure, he hated himself and everything else, but he couldn't just leave. he had to prove to himself he was more than what cobs described him as. he wasn't lazy, nor was he pathetic. he could do better. when he made it out of this situation alive,he would do better. he would stop lying in bed, stop hurting himself. he would try. and appreciate. he had people to care for him,whether he wanted to admit that to help with his self sabotage or not, he had OJ,Paper,Trophy. He had enough people that would miss him, or at-least be put in the same spot he was.

was?

thats past tense. mephone isn't dead.he can make it out alive,he can live his life to its fullest.
but,as he took a deep breath to calm himself,and as he felt soft yet firm arms lift him up, his systems came to a stop.

mephone didn't want to die.

And Oj didn't want to carry his dead body.

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wrote this because im up at 2am and had a breakdown, relapsing in the process👍
Aka/ Me projecting heavily onto a phone