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Eraser sobbed as he held himself, choking on his tears and mucus. He tried extra hard to exercise the breathing techniques that Woody taught him to utilize during his attacks, but it was just about as effective as throwing a single bottle of water at a raging flame. So, no, not very useful.
Eraser doesn't even know how it started. His mind was just trailing off as usual while eating dinner, then the what-if thoughts bounced around his head, snapping against his skull like rubber bands.
What if your food is poisoned?
What if there's a dead rat in your food and you just can't see it?
What if it has gone bad and you get sick and die?
What if you're eating rotting flesh and maggots?
That was the one that hit the spot. Eraser immediately got up and ran to his room without a word, rushing to his toilet and throwing up all that he ate that night. And now he was here, gagging on air and crying. His phone was in his hand, ready to call 911 any minute now.
What if this attack really is the one to kill him?
Eraser knew that it wasn't true. It couldn't be. But what if?
That's what made him lose it. He got up and dug around in his drawers until he found a screwdriver before going over to his punching bag and stabbing it over and over. Pounds of sand poured out of the bag and dozens of tears poured out of Eraser's eyes. By the time he calmed down, it was too late. What used to be his punching bag was now a piece of hanging rubber and cloth, with sand all over his floor.
Eraser fell down onto his knees, now choking out empty sobs. He had nothing left in him anymore. He felt so damn bad. Blocky got him that to help him with his anger issues but he just destroyed it like he did everything else. He couldn't clean this up by himself. Eraser hobbled over to his bed where he left his phone and texted his boyfriend.
Blocky came not much later, immediately gasping once he entered the room. He closed and locked the door behind him and ran to Eraser's side, sitting next to him on the bed.
"Do you-" "Yes. P- Please. Hug me." Blocky nodded, taking the taller into his arms and running his fingers through his hair, rocking him back and forth in his lap.
"... I'm sorry, Blocky," Eraser said after a few minutes, looking up at him with red, puffy eyes. "I fucked up the punching bag." Blocky shook his head. "Honey. Baby. I'm so glad you did that. I'm happy you didn't take it out on yourself. Please don't be sorry. I'll help you clean up tomorrow, let's just rest, okay?"
Eraser wiped at his eyes, smiling. "Yeah, okay. Thanks."
"Of course."
Blocky got up and turned the lights off before retreating back to the bed, pulling the thick comforter over both him and his lover. Eraser buried his face into the crook of Blocky's neck, holding onto him tight. Soon, his breathing became more relaxed, and his grip loosened.
Asleep.
Blocky silently chuckled, kissing Eraser's forehead before slipping into a slumber as well.
"I love you."