vent.
was made at 11:00 pm at night so it's not up to my standards, and hasn't been proofread.
strong trigger warning for self-harm and suicide. stay safe, y'all.
ao3 version can be found under "4crazyfriends", psuedo pawpricez.
~~~
Cross - Scars
He hadn't meant to really pull up his sleeves, but when he was washing his hands before he made dinner, Nightmare and Error on the couch making some light talk, his sleeves rode up a tad too much and it revealed a peak. Cross was quick to pull it down before anyone noticed, but it still stung in his memory. He tried hard not to think about it.
But it persisted.
Now he sat in his room, his door locked - for good measure, he told himself - and had his knife resting on the bed. It seemed to stare at him and say 'come on, pussy'. The alien tingling feeling rested on his forearms, causing Cross to rub and massage his arms.
Cross selectively ignored a thump sound, gulping when the temptation became too strong, and he reached for it. He touched it, feeling the smooth metal. Can't have it glowing red, he thought, it'd slice through me like a knife on warm butter. He gripped the handle hard, the grip a little painful, but his hand shaked as he slowly brought it closer to himself. It was a cycle. And he was about to start it again.
A scream - and Cross flinched, using his other hand grabbing the sharp edge of the metal as he jumped up. The urge became stronger, practically screaming at him to continue as tiny droplets of blood pooled at where he accidentally cut himself, but he ignored the thought as he ripped open the door and headed for the direction of the scream.
He halted at Nightmare's door - it was wide open, which it never was, and at the doorway stood Error. His glitching was freaking out, breathing rapid. Cross came up behind him. "What's happeni-..." his voice died in his throat when he saw the scene in front of him.
A pile of dust and a small pool of blood laid on the floor, all of Nightmare's clothes lying on top of it, stained and now dust-ridden. Right next to it lied a note and a knife.
Cross' eyelights shrunk as he stared at the scene in horror.
He didn't react. He didn't have much in the way of feelings besides the thought that this wasn't real. But the sights, sounds, feels - the small wound now stung - said so much otherwise.
And he stood there.
In shock.
While Error broke and fell to the ground.
He couldn't process it.
Soon Error wiped his tears though it was ineffective, sniffling as more tears streamed down again. He looked up and took a notice to the note. Cross saw the glitch get up, and slowly with fear, walk up and grab the note.
A paused moment.
It was a cycle. And it was about to start again.
Error - Stitches
He felt pain.
He didn't dare mention it to the others, not even show it, but it was there, stinging, burning when he moved too much, and it never left his mind. It was difficult for him to talk to Nightmare, process his words, figure out his own - it just hurt. So, so much.
And after dinner he went to the bathroom. And locked the door, just to play it safe. The needle he used earlier was there, in the safe place he put it. It was clean.
