FOREVER LULLABY. (smg34)

「fleeting wishes」

so sorry if it has bad grammar
                           or doesn't make         
                         sense ｡ﾟ(ﾟ'ω'ﾟ)ﾟ｡!!
    TW: $u!c!d€ mention, swears,
  unhealthy dynamic, psychological torture
                                -ENJOY!!!-
    ———————-SMG3-———————

The Monday morning felt heavy, like a weight pressing down on everything in the room. SMG3 was sprawled out on his bed, staring blankly at his phone screen, watching YouTube videos in a haze of tiredness. The world outside was in the midst of the usual pre-Christmas frenzy, but to SMG3, the festive season felt like a cruel joke. Every day had blended into the next, and the hollow ache in his chest never seemed to leave.

He had barely slept, as usual. His eyes were heavy, his movements sluggish, and even the comfort of his bed did nothing to ease the emptiness inside. He had long stopped pretending he was okay. The world had continued to spin, but he hadn't. He hadn't for weeks, not since... since that night.

His finger lazily scrolled across his phone screen as he clicked on another random video, half-listening to the voices coming from his phone. The absurdity of what was on screen barely registered in his tired mind. He had no energy for distractions. Not anymore. His thoughts kept spiraling back to that dark, twisted version of SMG4—the one that had been haunting him.

It had started after SMG4's death, and it never seemed to stop. At first, it was subtle: a shadow in the corner of his vision, a whisper in the back of his mind. But it had escalated. Now, that version of SMG4 was there, lurking around every corner. SMG3 tried to ignore it, to keep his distance, but it felt like it was always waiting for him to break.

And then, as if on cue, he felt it.

The cold, empty presence that seemed to seep into the very air around him.

He didn't look up. He didn't even flinch. He'd grown used to it by now. SMG4's twisted form was there, standing at the foot of the bed, watching him with those hollow eyes.

SMG3 didn't bother acknowledging it. His gaze remained fixed on his phone screen, his face blank. He'd been pretending it didn't exist for weeks now, so why stop?

But then, there it was again.

The voice—low and disturbingly calm.

"What do you want for christmas?" The words hung in the air like a curse, as if the question itself was poison.

SMG3 blinked, taken aback. It wasn't like SMG4's twisted version to ask questions. It never had before. It was always..different. It was always taunting, mocking, like a specter of what had been. But this? This was something new. And it made his skin crawl.

Still, SMG3 didn't move. He didn't want to acknowledge it. His thumb scrolled down the video, trying to drown out the unease that crept up his spine.

"A hug," SMG3 replied deadpan, his voice barely audible, as though it didn't matter. "A warm fucking hug."

There was a long pause. Then SMG4's twisted version simply stared at him, silent, unmoving.

"I'm sorry," it said, its voice soft but cold.

SMG3 raised an eyebrow, confused. "For what?" He didn't care. He didn't even feel a flicker of hope at the apology. If anything, it felt like a damn mock.

SMG4's twisted form tilted its head slightly, almost as if considering the words carefully. "For not being able to hug you warmly," it said, a twisted kind of empathy in its voice. "But if you killed yourself, then I could hug you the warmest, and give you feathery kisses."