Itch. {JohnDave}

Nails

He couldn't begin to describe the pleasure that resulted from the pressure of a single nail to the flesh of his cheek.

Just a scratch, a single itch.

The gradual destruction of layers upon layers of skin, under which rested blood.
Blood that would soon seep from the subtle slits in the flesh. But not yet.

It was a slow sport, one that took time.
He could see the beauty in that itself.
It took commitment; it took concentration. Devotion. Determination.

But why?

Why would one ever wish to pain themselves so?

Surelty even the legendary Dave Strider was aware of the near unbearable burn that resulted from the anxious clawing.

He was more than aware.
But the pain was his safe haven.
It was his last resort.
Ever since the incident, it was all he had.
Currently, he sat in the airport with reflective aviators perched upon the bridge of his nose, the nails of three digits pressed cruelly against his cheek.

Slowly, he dragged the nails down to his collar, repeating the process.

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.

He listened in for the announcement of his flight, pale face tilted upwards in the slightest.

A patch of crimson blossomed against his jaw from his most recent session, the sting slicing through his nerves and sending a rattling shiver dancing down his spine.
Dave winced, jaw set as he prepared to plunge his rounded nails past his skin once again.

Sensitivity had long since melted into numbness, and he could hardly bring himself to care.

Just as he could feel the warmth of blood greet his fingertips, his activities were interrupted by the summoning of his flight.

"Flight 182, destination Washington, now boarding."

Dave felt his figure tense as he forced himself to rise, backpack slung lazily over his shoulder. His hand settled for a palm pressed to his opened wound, eyes blinking repeatedly as to clear his vision of the darkening spots.

He lifted his silenced phone from his hoodie's pocket, white wisps of blond tickling his eyelids as he reread the messages between himself and another.

??: Dave?
??: Gosh, I'm so excited.
??: It's been like. Years, huh?
TG: Yeah man
TG: Years
??: Mm
??: Well I'll see you at midnight!
??: I think I'll cry if your flight gets delayed
??: Jfc, wow, yes, I'm 18
TG: Tch
TG: Dork
??: Dweeb

Dave pocketed his phone once more, managing a strained smile despite the current pool of blood leaking into his palm.
Four eyes had better be prepared for one hell of a holiday break.