SWEATER PAWS | CSCOOP X READER (completed)

april

thursday, april 4th, 2020. 2:03 pm.
cooper

it's been a few weeks since i took a break from streaming. i still earn some money from my posts and views - they won't stop talking about me on twitter, carson says.

the boys give me money when i need it.
i don't, but i still thank them.

there's not much point to have anything anymore anyway.

cooper couldn't stop hiding his face in her dark blue sweater. he wears it each day, rarely changing into anything else, and makes little sweater paws when he goes off to sleep, which, on the contrary, is a rarity in itself.

i don't come out. i mean, the boys still come into my room, but not for long. i don't like that kind of closeness.

the blonde boy shuts his eyes and squints hard, trying to push back the stinging tears starting to form.

he breathes heavy once more, but not like on the roof about a month ago. since that time, he's learned to deal with his terrible breathing and chest pains and instead, shifts his focus onto his hands.

he looks at the sweater cuffing his palms. he squeezes the hems by clenching a fist and starts to shake violently, proceeding with a slam of the desk in front of him.

it's been a little hard, a little shaky.
i still think about everything, but i can't think of anything else besides nothing.

i feel so empty, so numb.
please come back.

cooper wipes his face with the sleeves of the sweater.

remember when you said you'd never leave?

you did, and i forgive you. because i miss you.
i miss you so fucking much.

it's been four months.

do you remember that time we went to that fun fair by the shore? santa monica, late september. you just started your first year of college, and i surprised you with the tickets.

you wanted to go for so long, and i could never forget the smile you had in your face.

you shine bright, my angel.

cooper drops his pen and sinks into his arms. he envelops himself, a form of protective hugging he's incorporated into his routine to feel something again.

he glances at the polaroids and little printed photos he still had hanging on the walls. he sobs, a small, frail smile spreading across his lips at all the memories he's managed to compactly compile onto a meter long rope by his bed.

the chest pain begins again. he reaches for his chest, clenching his fist around the sweater as he usually has been doing. he looks up to the ceiling, opening his eyes and letting his mouth hang agape in hopes of catching some breaths.

cooper whispers, "please, please dear God. I want my (y/n) back. i need her here. with me."