MCR Imagines And Oneshots

♡^Run, run | F.G. | (4/5) | Ending 1

(A/n)

Requested by love_fanfictionz :)

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Okay, maybe I have lost the sense of reality at some point due to all the overthinking, the new setting that almost always gives me existential crisis and shit, but, damn, Ghoul does fucking anchor me back to reality. Seeing the hyperactive killjoy walking towards me to tell me a random story or even just for having nothing else to do makes me want the morning to arrive soon so we can talk again. He is also so sweet and adorable.

Oh hell, and here I am, falling for a damn killjoy.

Thinking about all of this is complicated, however. It practically goes against everything I was taught, but, again, I never really believed any of that, I was shoved forward by the system and even thinking about what I really believe is something difficult. Everything is way too messy, it's difficult to identify what's wrong or right most of the time due to there being many perspectives. Of course, I know that what BLI does is wrong, that the killjoys run away for freedom and all, but that's not all there is. Things are a lot more complex than just two sides battling.

A sigh escapes my lips as I look out the window of the diner – careful to not be caught because I just removed the fucking cuffs –, but my attention is attracted by a thump coming from the hallway, what startles me. I raise an eyebrow to myself as quietly walking towards the doorway to the hall and the sight isn't exactly good.

The light coming from one of the rooms makes Poison and Ghoul seen, but my heart sinks in the moment I understand what is going on. Poison being pushed back against the wall is what made the sound, and he continues being pressed back against it as Ghoul kisses him.

Holy shit. Out of everything, that's the least thing I've presumed to be happening.

Poison starts walking and the two apparently don't pull away until they walk into the room in the end of the hall; darkness takes over again once the door is thrown shut.

And I feel stupid. Extremely stupid. But, thinking well, what in the fuck were I expecting? Kobra mentioned it – Ghoul is usually clingy like that towards everyone and isn't one to care about a lot of things. Not to mention that he is a killjoy and I'm a damned Scarecrow. It was about time this fever induced dream came to an end.

I make sure there is no one around before I move to the counter. Even if I fell into stupidness about Ghoul, it doesn't mean I stopped caring about Kobra, Jet, Poison and even Ghoul himself.

Finding a knife is easy since there are always some laying over the counter, so I grab it and, with a few moments of tapping around the skin of my wrist, blood is running down the skin once the blade starts sinking in. After a bit of digging around, I can find the fucking tracker. Easy. It is relieving to have this shit out of my body. I leave it on the counter and move to bandage my wrist, ripping a part of my jacket so I can wrap it around my wrist.

I stand there, in silent, for a moment, processing all the shit that has been happening. Hell, I don't even think it matters anymore if I die. And it's not because of a little heartbreak, but how the killjoys have opened my eyes.

None of these matters anymore.

The chilly breeze has me shivering once I step out of the diner with a flashlight, but I continue walking down the desert as hugging myself, tracker in hand.

All I know is that I walk for a relatively long time before finally coming to a stop to throw the tracker as far as I am able to. Fuck you Korse, Director, Dracs; fuck you, BL/Ind.