Pessimistic [Completed]

20

First off: I'm not doing chapter titles anymore. I'm just going to switch them back to numbers, sorry.

Second: sorry for not updating! Both motivation AND attention span dissapeared, and I decided to be stupid and start a new project. I've put a timer on my YouTube again, because that helped, so I should start updating more.

Third and final: Thank you guys for 6.45K reads! It's suprising that people actually read this flaming heap of trash.

"I'm just really sorry." Keith put his hand on top of Pico's so just their fingers overlapped. "I read the note."

Pico felt shame washing over him. Had he really thought it would be okay for him to just leave with those as his last words?

"I wrote it like a bad joke, sorry." Pico looked into his eyes, examining his face. He hadn't noticed they were dark brown, rather than black. He had a black eye on one side of his face, swelling into a brilliant purple.
"What happened to your eye?"

"You kicked me when I was trying to get you down." He brushed his hair out of his eye.

"Sorry. I wasn't thinking."

"Don't apologize."

"Sorry."

"Really?" Keith laughed dryly.

"I guess." He smiled. He had missed Keith. His heart ached for him. Or maybe that was just a sore bruise. "This was all just a bad idea."

"Don't say that. I mean, it wasn't the best idea, but you haven't exactly been in good condition." His eyes wandered towards his arm.

"I know. I overreacted."

Keith sighed. "Maybe this wouldn't have happened if I hadn't been such a jackass and broken up over a little arguement."

Pico snorted. "You think you were a jackass?" He cracked a smile, but tried to hide it, and ended up making a weird face. "I was so much worse."

Keith gave him a worried look. "It's really not a contest, you know that, right?"

"I was though. I was horrible to everyone. I don't know why you even bother talking to me."

"I guess I just... well, you're my friend. I care about you."

Of course. Just a friend.

Friend.

"Right. Friend. Okay." So much guilt came with that word and it felt enough to drive him over again.

The two sat there in an awkward silence.

The longer Keith looked at him the more horrible Pico felt. He felt as if something was trying to crawl out of his throat, scratching at the inside of his lungs.

He struggled to sit up, every nerve in his body seemed to shriek. He got lightheaded, but held his stance.

"Lay back down-"

"I'm fine, it just hurts a bit." He lied. He wanted to be face to face with Keith.

"You sure?"

Pico's arms shook in protest to his weight. "Nope. But its okay."

"Don't hurt yourself." Keith helped him lay back down gently.

Pico wanted to though. He would have thought that after everything that had happened, the urge would be gone, but he craved it more than ever.

Keith looked like he was debating against his own thoughts. Finally he stood up, nervous. "I probably have to go. I'll visit you soon, if it's alright?"

Picos heart sank for a moment. "Oh. Um, sure."

"Alright then. Goodbye." He shut the door behind him, and the room returned to its blank white state.

Keith visited everyday for the next few weeks, getting warmer every sentence he spoke. He talked about a lot of things, and Pico clung to every sentence like it was a rope bridge over a ravine.

Pico was healing as well. His arm was decorated with white strokes and dots. His bruises were fading, and he could sit up without getting dizzy to the point where he passed out.

Although, he would have hoped he'd be feeling better mentally. His mind still raced with thought, but now he kept them inside his head. He'd do his best and put on a smile whenever Keith was in the room.

"You have a visitor."

Pico didn't take even a second to think before responding. "Send him in."

The door opened and for a moment the hallway was visible. Keith walked in, his bright blue hair freshly dyed and still damp from washing. He had a worried expression on his face, and wouldn't meet Pico's eyes.

"Hey K."

Keith didn't answer. He just sat down in the doctors chair next to him, and held his hands together like he was praying.

"Is something wrong?" Pico pulled himself up into a sitting position.

"I think so."

"You think so? What does that mean?"

"I don't know if it's a problem yet, I'm just confused." He pulled off his coat and let it fall to the floor. His arms were the same unreflective solid black that Pico's were. "Ever since we... broke up... it's been spreading. I can't feel my arms or anything, it's just numb."

It was Pico's turn to be silent.

"Do you know anything about this?"

He waited a moment before speaking. "I don't know. I think it was that lemon thing. It's got to be that demon's fault." He dug his nails into his wrist subconsciously. "I shot it and something splattered on me. I would have died if I hadn't shot it."

"Huh."

They sat there for a minute.

"Do you have any idea when you're getting released?"

"I don't know. The doctor's considering putting me in a mental hospital, so it might be a while."

"Oh. Do you think I'd still be able to visit you?"

"I don't know." Pico realized her was still squeezing his arm. Some neon pink goop was leaking out of it. He wiped it off. Jeez, whatever this was, it was screwing him up inside and out. "I hope so though." Was that too gay? He wanted to seem like he was over him. They were friends again, and that by itself had taken weeks of emotionally torturing himself. He didn't want to lose him.

"Yeah. Let me know if you find out, okay?"

"Of course. I mean, yeah, sure."

"Nice. See you tomorrow." Keith got up and left before Pico could say anything else.

I promise next chapter will be better. This was sitting in my drafts, half finished, for weeks, so I lost my train of thought.