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Paper was tired.
That wasn’t quite right, he was tired but not in a physical sense (although some days that was also a part of it). He just was so… Stretched thin like he could tear at any moment. So many things were happening, so many people wanted his help, and there were still so many bills to make sure were paid off before the end of the month-
At least, for now, it was quiet. Serene almost. Winter mornings were always nice, the sun not yet up and no one talking. Though, he knew OJ was already up (does the man ever sleep in?) based on the humming from down the hall in the kitchen.
He could get up, he really could, just go have a nice early morning chat with his friend before everyone else showed up and took the hotel owner’s attention away. But it just felt so… Unreachable, unachievable. Like getting out of bed would be the most difficult thing to do in the world. This had been happening a lot more as of late, not that Paper would ever mention to anyone.
There was a clattering of footsteps, and, as they passed by his door, a low, mischievous chuckle. Yin and Yang had, apparently, gotten up early, something he attributed to Yin (Yang always slept in, even as Yin would walk around and get ready for the day, more or less dragging the right side of their body along). That meant more hours of their endless arguing (Paper was patient with them though. It was more the noise he didn’t like, or how their arguing could end up as everyone arguing (too loud)).
7:14
The clock on the bedside table cast a red glow on the otherwise dark room. The numbers seemed to taunt him. A month ago, he would’ve been up nearly an hour ago, working on making sure everything in the kitchen and dining room was in order for everyone to shuffle in and make their breakfasts. On some mornings he’d even made them breakfast himself, laughing with OJ about how silly the apron looked on him (he’d wanted to try making colored pancakes, but the red dye had spilled and made it look like he’d been through a slasher flick).
God, he was tired.
Rolling over, he grabbed his phone off the table, pausing for a moment at the empty black screen which, with the now soft streaming in light of the sun, reflected his face back to him. Had those dark circles always been there? God his hair was a mess, it almost reminded him of how he’d looked after he got back from- The shiver that went down his spine at just barely thinking of the place dismissed that thought immediately.
‘I’m sorry, I’m going to take the day off. I’m not feeling great.’
He practically tossed the phone back to the bedside table. God, he was being selfish, and he knew it. OJ needed his help making sure things ran smoothly and here he was, going to spend a day off just because he wasn’t feeling well. To someone he cared about so much, to someone who’d been so kind to him-
Bzzz
Paper shot up, nearly knocking his head on the back of his bed at the vibration of the phone. He reached over for it but hesitated when his hand was just above it. What if OJ was upset at him for this? He should be, it was self-centered and would probably mean he’d have more work to do without his manager. If he was angry with him, what would that mean for their relationship? Would OJ kick him out ask him to leave (
drop him off at an island alone
)-
He crumpled in on himself, knees drawn up to his chest and arms wrapped around them, red eyes still glued to the phone sitting there ( taunting him ). He didn’t want to ruin what they already had, what he cared so much about. He heart seemed to thump too hard in his chest, taking up space away from his lungs. What if he’d just ruined things?
Finally, his hands feeling numb, he grabbed the phone, his sigh coming out in a shuddering gasp. The light coming off it was blinding for a moment.
‘thats okay dude! you want me to bring you some breakfast or smth? if not ill check in on you anyways. feel better soon!! :-D’
… Huh.
He was an idiot. He was so dumb.
His chest felt too tight, the headboard the only thing keeping him still sitting up. Now his quick, shallow breaths seemed silly, even as his throat burned. He really was an idiot. Maybe he did belong at that island.
When his breathing steadied after a long few minutes of focusing and trying to slow it down, he flopped down onto his side, phone still in hand. With the other hand, he wiped away that burning around his eyes (getting wet was one of his least favorite things, naturally) and got his hair from his face. Big dummy, he sniffed, getting so worked up over nothing. He looked back at his phone when it vibrated again, this time just a ‘?’. He smiled softly.
‘I’d like that.’
He was still tired. But… He lifted his head when he heard the door handle turn ( had OJ been waiting right outside for that confirmation? ). The smell of freshly made eggs wafted in first, followed by the familiar face he loved to see. He wasn’t alone at least.