*
Royce was sick of everything.
He hates to admit but the constant murmurs of disappointment were painfully and slowly getting to him. It got him to the point where he no longer can hear his own thoughts. Heck, he was questioning himself and his life decisions. It might've been small changes but it was the beginning of internal hell. A battle he had to fight alone. Royce's shoulders were slumped more than usual. His frown was deeper and he was spacing out a lot more than intended. He barely spoke a word or two.
Royce stayed awake even after the rest of the world fell asleep, a layer of gloom draped itself over the sky and that's when it usually hits him. It hits him so hard – he scatters into a million pieces, his face buried deep into the pillow so no one can hear the pain latching onto him. He wants to lash out all his anger, pent up anxiety, self hatred, lost dreams, broken friendships and all this loneliness hovering above him, clawing at his insides. He's a lost cause walking on the edge of nothingness with only darkness to accompany him.
No one acknowledged these small changes in him or how Royce was falling into depression.
No one noticed but him.