My Savior isn't a People Person [Noiz × Aoba]

23 - Unhappy

[🚨🚧 : mentions of self harm]

It had been about three weeks, Aoba got his new apartment and settled in. Well, minus proper furniture; he had a bed, just nothing else. The brats continued to visit Mediocrity as he worked, giving him a chance to escape what was going on inside of his head.

Memories from both men flooded his thoughts when he was alone, the good times that they had shared before everything went dark. Each time he remembered how Noiz started to ignore him he felt his heart getting squeezed tightly; finger nails digging into the blood pumping organ before it got ripped out of his chest. Feeling the life drain out of him whenever he closed his eyes to go to sleep—in an empty bed—the very comforting warmth he had for almost a year was now gone, never to be seen again.

Despite how terrible he felt, Aoba continued on. He had to be strong, he needed to stay calm so he could keep his job. He enjoyed working at the junk shop, and the kids were his only source of serotonin. He loved their bright smiles, their obnoxious giggles and outbursts; how he wished he could be a kid again, now more than ever. There would be no pain of losing the one he loved, there would be no feeling of eyes observing everything he did, no thoughts in the back of his mind that someone would pop out from behind a corner and chloroform him to take him somewhere he would probably die.

He hated it. He hated how he was feeling. Despised what he was going through. But the young Aoba believed that everything happened for a reason. And he was going to use this time to work on himself, making this apartment his home.

Meanwhile Noiz had only gotten worse. His fingers trembled if he wasn't busy scratching away at his hallucinations on his arms and legs. One bug had multiplied into five in the span of three weeks, they were no longer just crawling. They were eating away at his skin. He tried his hardest to convince himself that it was fake, that the bugs were just in his head.

Not real, not real, not real. He would repeat once he felt them nibbling away at his flesh and muscle, he would be able to resist for a few moments. That was until his fingers would tingle and move on their own; Wilhelm felt like he didn't have control over his own body. It scared him, but at the same time it calmed it.

It let him know that he was still a human; that he was able to feel miserable and uneasy.

Whenever he wasn't feeding the dark void slowly taking over his mind, he we would wait for the man that never came home; sitting on the couch until he fell asleep—waking up hours later to prepare for another day. He even cooked dinner for two, although the portion meant for the man he loved sat untouched on the kitchen counter, a feast for the flies that had been unconciously welcomed into the apartment.

Wilhelm got up from the couch in the first time for what felt like months and stalked into the kitchen, trying to decide what he wanted to eat. But sadly he saw that he was running low on food, and he didn't have much money. Hell, he didn't have any money; it was a miracle that he hadn't been kicked out of the complex and on the streets.

But luck wasn't on his side for long.