Youtuber x reader Imagines

Maxmoefoe// drawing

*trigger warning: self-harm implied*

You lie down in a pool of self-pity and sadness as you continue to stare up at your ceiling.

A simple grey light hangs elegantly over you, swaying slightly due to the wind.

You have a deadpan expression on your face, you long for a smile, just for your lip to quiver would be good enough.

The silence beings to consume you again, you'd always hated the silence but it's so comforting at the same time.

Your right arm twitches in pain and you look down to see the neatly drawn pictures that you'd just created.

The ink from your art brings to leak out and slide down your arm, eventually soaking into your mattress.

You hadn't drawn in so long, you always kept it a secret so no one knew that you had such a talent.

Occasionally you'd see other people like you walking around, artists.

Not one of you are proud of your art, you all cover your canvases with cloth and silk.

The air glides it's fragile fingerprints over your body as you inhale deeply and sigh in an attempt to relieve pain.

Your eyes grow heavy as the idea of sleep dances around your mind and takes a hold of your limp body.

You blink calmly and ignore the feeling of sleep as you continue to stare up at your ceiling that seems to be pulling you into the endless torture of your own mind.

the front door to your apartment is opened and sends a cold wave over your body.

It's max...

Tears brim your eyes while you trace over your drawings with your left hand, smudging your art.

You wince and a single tear slides down your ghostly face leaving a small shining line after it; This was something you'd missed.

Drawing.

The act of drawing was your stress relief, drawing took away the pain and allowed you to feel numb for a second but recently numb is all you're able to feel.

It wasn't the drawing that you missed, it was the feeling that came after the euphoric numbness faded away.

Sadness.

For the first time in so long you finally felt something, you start to trace over your art again but this time with a harder force

More ink beings to run from your drawings and the tears start to roll down your face again.

You take your thoughts away from your art and bring your knees into your chest.

You begin to sob heavily but something that could only be called a smile played on your lips.

A smile, finally, a smile.

You weren't happy, you were still sad but you were happy that you were sad and that is better than any type of numbness could feel.

You pull a pillow into your chest and allow your tears to stain it with sadness that's laced with joy.

"oh, sadness how I've missed you" You stutter out between breaths while your arm beings to sting again as your art rubs against your pillow.

Your bedroom door is hesitantly pushed open to reveal a concerned brunette boy.

"I thought you were done with drawing?" he gulps and stutters a little while splashes of sadness trickle over his face.

"I was" You choke out, the pain coming from your arm isn't stopping like it used to, this may be your most detailed piece yet.

"let's clean this up" the older boy shakes his head as his eyes find the pencil that had been discarded on the floor after you'd finished drawing with it.

You push yourself up from the bed and take the boys hand while the feeling of sadness seems to fade away from your mind again.

"I'm sorry" You mutter while you make your way into your kitchen.

You wanted to be sorry, you weren't, you weren't really sure what it felt like to be sorry anymore.

"I know you're not" he sighs in disappointment as he enters your kitchen that contained piles upon piles of dirty plates.

you bow your head dismissively and follow after him into the kitchen.

"Up" he orders and taps softly on your counter top.

You say silence and hop somewhat elegantly up onto your counter top.

"You know that when you put this much detail into your drawings they start to hurt you" He flips a few strands of hair from his face with his finger.

"I know" You reply solemnly while the saddened boy takes a bottle and some bandages out of a draw to your left.

He pulls your arm towards him and dabs some of the liquid from the bottle onto some cotton wool.

He wipes the cotton over your art and wipes away the majority of the colour, leaving just the skeleton of your creation.

The numbness sinks back in and your face goes dead pan again.

the pain doesn't effect you anymore.

He picks up the bandage and begins to cover up your art with the material.

You take your attention away from your arm and look at his.

You lift up his flannel sleeve and allow your eyes to glide tenderly over his arm.

A smile appears on your face as you remember that he used to draw too.

--

a/n: thank you to all that have kept this in their library.