Cry of Fear + Afraid of Monsters Oneshots

Familiar

It starts with a loud noise, jarring him from his senses and making everything stop. In an instant, the most deafening sound he'd ever heard gave way to pure and utter silence. He knows, somehow, and-

No, that's not quite right.

It starts before.

It's snowing in the little town of Fäversholm, but that's nothing new. He bundles in closer, grey hoodie shielding him from cold winds and even colder stares. His gloved hands knock on the door, trying to ignore the concerned looks from the neighbours as he waited patiently. He chews his lip, feeling so very out of place, as he always did, standing there.
The door opens, and he's relieved for a second, the warm air condensing on his face, but when he looks, he quickly removes his stare.
"Is Sophie in?" He asks, cautiously.
"Sure, c'mon in, I'll get her." The deep voice replies, and he hesitates. "Simon, right? C'mon, man I won't bite." The man standing in front of him chuckles, grabbing Simon's arm and pulling him in to the heat of the house.
He'd never been in Sophie's house before, and it was just as he imagined it, but he was still in awe. Just as fancy as the neighbourhood it was located in, a palace compared to his own home. He took a careful sideward glance at the man leading him into what he presumed was the living room. He had red hair, unkempt, and a scruff of a beard to cover his square jawed face. His body was a strange mix of sinewy and a slight bit of muscle, and he was tall - or rather, taller than Simon. The man picked his way into a room with plush sofas and a fireplace, and gesticulated for him to sit down. Simon licked his lips nervously, the man made him uncomfortable. Anxiety.
When the man left, Simon breathed a sigh of relief, but did not sit. Instead he stood rigidly near the wall, careful not to mark it. He heard the man call upstairs, and footsteps, Sophie greeted him cheerfully, running a hand through her hair.
"We should get going." She tells him, a stark contrast to her tone just a second ago.
He follows her out.

She later tells him, getting it all off her chest, about him, her brother. About how he dropped out of a prestigious college. About his bad habits. About his arguments and their parents anger. About his drug use. Simon listens, letting her relieve herself from her chains, watching her cry and finally understanding why she felt so distraught at his usage. He patted her shoulder and stared into her eyes, comforting her, and resolving to walking her home.
He made his own way back after that, locking himself in his room with a needle of morphine and a pocketknife. The thought - of her, her body, her voice and her grief. She was so fragile, he knew, and he was hurting her. With his needles, and knife, of course. She didn't know about the dreams, and what she didn't know couldn't hurt her. Instead it hurt him, the thoughts of her body on his and shameful sounds and touches to leave him satisfied and numb from the morphine, but a good ache that helped him get off. He always felt wrong after that, but he hated the dreams, so he stopped them the only way he knew how.
His mind was buzzing, and his wrists were pooling with blood, but he didn't care. He was happy...

The second time he visits, his anxiety grows, and he finds the man on his brain. Sure enough he opens the door, and greets Simon with a crooked grin.
"Hey man, c'mon in." Simon notes he's wearing a tank top and loose sweatpants, and his arms are slightly muscly, the type where it looked like he worked out, but inconsistently. Simon follows, and hears him humming gruffly, clearing his throat and ruffling his hair so it sat even more mussed on his head. "Sorry 'bout that, i jus' woke up." He chuckles, voice still thick with sleep.
"It's fine. Sorry I woke you..." Simon replies, "So, uh, what's your name?" He asks, awkwardly.
"David." The man turns to him, smirking. "Sophie doesn't speak about me?" He asks, for a second, making Simon feel uncomfortable. "I don't blame her, poor lass." He smiles, sympathetic. His moods were random, it seemed. Simon speaks no more, waiting for Sophie.

After that, more dreams followed, and more scars. He fell back down, feeling worse than ever. He felt sick to his stomach, and nothing helped. The illusions were worse than ever, and he found himself unable to leave his bed. But in this time, he thought. He wondered how Sophie was getting on, without him there to stop the bullies. But mostly, he wondered about David. And he found his dreams shifting, Sophie was appearing less and less, and he felt himself slowly feeling better. Somehow, David had piqued his curiosity, but still roused that anxious feeling inside of him. Simon slept, ready to return to school the next day.
It was a pleasant day, not much wind as he walked into the school grounds, Sophie hugged him, smiling. And for once, he genuinely smiled back, for he felt no burning ache in his stomach, no need.
The day went quickly, and classes were normal. Sophie told Simon that she would be away for a week, with her family, so she couldn't hang out for a while. And he found himself relieved. Sure, this morning was good, he felt content, but her incessant chattering was beginning to annoy him, her voice too high, too shrill.
He ignored her the rest of the day, and went home feeling empty.
He avoided her the next day, too. It was a Friday, and she was leaving tomorrow. He felt no sadness where sadness should be, and somehow, he knew he wouldn't miss her.