"𝐒𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬" ❱ lunchclub/smplive oneshots

saline solution to all your problems

i haven't written in a good while, this was mainly to get a feel of where im at so i apologize for the lack of.. well, skill.

lowercase intended, !angst warning!

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a cold to the touch doorknob sent chills up his spine as his familiar and familiarly over chilled air from his room encased his warmed body. he notices his thrifted bedside table and uses it to stabilize himself before everything becomes too blurry to make out. skidding down the wall, the donned signature baggy yellow sweater rides up his back, leaving it cold like the rest of his exposed skin.

the supposedly safe space that his room provided became merely a slob of greys and tans as he couldn't stop the water rushing down his cheeks. countless thoughts ran through his head, trying to sort them from what would be useful in this situation felt futile. coping mechanisms couldn't come to mind, despite the various therapists and sessions none could be differentiated through the blurs and scribbles in his head.

he was supposed to be prepared for when this inevitably happened, he thought. any rationalization he could think about himself soon just became him putting himself down as pathetic, pathetic for letting this happen. tears that tracked down his face felt like claw marks being etched into his skin, and he desperately tried to hold onto that physical feeling instead of drowning himself in self depricating thoughts.

his hands slowly felt their way to the flooring as he tried to ground himself, the cool hard wood providing some means of connecting himself to the physical world around him. tears still flowed like an unfiltered waterfall, yet it grew more silent in his hopes of not disturbing his flatmates. they of all people put up with wilbur enough as it is.

the salt was all he could taste as the remains of his past meal was lost in the fixation of his other senses. what did he even have to be upset about? don't get him wrong, life can be a fucked up train wreck that leaves little to nothing of being desired, but he had it rather good in life. depression, as it was figured to be, was just cold- slapping him hard in the face years ago as he started to gain thoughts he never knew he could harbor.

it felt like a rising storm, sometimes predictable and othertimes bloodlusted, tearing through everything he thought he cared about and leaving it all in a gloomy, damp lighting. no matter how hard he wishes or just pleas to some god he doesn't believe exists, the storm always comes back. and it always hurts.

he opts towards distracting himself from the glaring and unpleasant situation, moving wet stray strands of choclate brown hair away from his face. his vision clears slightly, as the once bright swelling ball of light fades to the dim light source of his lamp across the room. he turns to his side, recognizing a few objects that once brought solace to him when nothing else could. now, they felt like forgotten hobbies that left him to become the husk of the person he was before.

among these things he identifies his phone, meekly grabing for it among the forgotten about items. the screen flashed on and brightly assaulted his eyes, as he slowly adjusted he looked upon his apps, eventually choosing to look for someone to talk to instead of once again distracting himself and bottling up his emotions.

once in discord though, he hovered over multiple familiar icons and faces, afraid of making someone consider him a bother more than they already might. wilbur is surprised he managed to have friends in the first place, it gave him an undeserved feeling that led to him tossing his phone to the side all together. he doesn't need to sink anyone anyone else down alongside him.

maybe it can all be drowned away into the void of sleep, maybe it can all just be forgotten if he losses consciousness. a dark pull lures him as all of his problems seep into some other fabric of reality, as the only thing tying him back to his shitty apartment was the wet, salt laced cheeks and the throat that felt like sandpaper from sobbing over practically nothing. just, forget about it.

he forgot, he let go, just surrendered to the dark and looming night sky. he doesn't know if it'll be any better come daylight, but then and there? he couldn't promt himself to care.

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constructive criticism is always appreciated :)