‡† The Unseen †‡

04 † Drooping †

Trigger warning: Mention of attempted self-harm

Apologies for any mistakes you might come across!
__________

It was game night.

The gym was loud—echoes of sneakers squeaking on the polished floor, the steady thump of the basketball, the rising chant of students and parents packed into the bleachers. It was Saturday night, and the energy was thick with tension and expectation.

Raven stood near the free-throw line, his breath sharp and quick. Sweat trickled down his face. He felt hot and feverish. His shoulders ached. His head buzzed faintly from the strain of the week. But his face gave none of it away.

He’d played like a storm all night—fast, precise, relentless. His coach had been shouting  throughout the last quarter, voice hoarse from yelling plays and praise alike. And Raven was tired of all the yelling and praise. Because anytime the coach opened his mouth to call out or encourage or commend, his name was always included. And it drilled at his brain.

“Let’s go, Raven! One more run!”

His teammates slapped his back, called his name, and his parents—seated near the front, just beside the school faculty—were clapping and smiling—and of course, hollering. His mom looked brighter than she had in days. His dad’s hand was on her knee, steadying her as she cheered. Raven would've laughed at how uncivilized they could be when it came to games, if not for the worry for his mother's recently retarding health, and the pain that zapped through him at every turn. He knew they expected the best from him. All parents expected the best from their children.

So he pushed harder. Ignored the burn in his joints, the dull throb beneath his ribs, and pushed harder.

The final seconds ticked down. The ball bounced into his hands one last time.

No pressure, huh?

Raven sprinted down the court. Every movement was like grinding stone against already-cracked pavement, but he moved like he was flying. He leapt, released the shot—

Swish.

The buzzer rang.

"Oh, thank God," Raven breathed, still heaving.

The crowd exploded.

His teammates swarmed him, slapping his shoulders rather too harshly, tousling his hair. The coach grabbed him by those same poor shoulders, shouting praise into his face like he was a soldier returning from war.

Raven smiled, wide and full—but only with his mouth. Every other part of his body screamed freaking pain.

But everyone was too busy basking in jubilee to notice.

Inside, Raven was already shutting down, pulling away.

———–

The gym had begun to clear out. Lights still buzzed overhead, the echo of laughter and chatter slowly fading into the night. Raven walked beside his parents, who flanked him proudly.

“You were incredible,” his mother said, her voice touched with wonder, before doubling over with a cough that made both father and son worry. She waved them off her dismissively, that awed smile still on her face.

“Clutch shot,” his father added. “Just like I taught you.”

Raven nodded, but his mind was still fixed on the cough his mother had just displayed. He could see it; how weak she was, how wobbly her limbs felt. She might be good at pretending, but there'd be no way he wouldn't know..