Work Text:
he doesn’t pay attention anymore. he doesn’t even look at you. no matter how sick your beats are, no matter how clever your attacks are, no matter how many times you say ‘hey bro’, he doesn’t pay attention. all he gives you are glares and ounches and nasty looks and swords, so many fucking swords-
its like his shades are blinding him, or maybe he could never really see you at all. maybe you never even existed to him.
maybe you’re not even real.
you dont really matter, do you?
if he doesn’t see you, then who will? he’s the only one able to deal with your pathetic, weak, loser ass, and he still doesn’t want you around.
you wish you were surprised.
your bed is warm and your sheets are soft. you know that somewhere in your mind, but you just feel cold and hard and empty. you feel like you might snap. you want to go to the roof, but you don’t want to risk waking him up and earning yourself a strife. partially because its dark and you wouldn’t be able to see up there, but its also because you’re so fucking exhausted that he could just push you off. he wouldn’t even have to pick up his sword.
you think you might let him.
you roll over, hold back the tears, and drift off to sleep.
striders don’t cry.