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Summary
Vox's mind worked in curious ways. He hardly understood it himself; the cleaning, the counting, the disorienting thoughts that'd wordlessly drag him into a prison of his own making -- invisible bars frozen around turquoise fingers. Some days, it felt overwhelming, but like any good actor, he strived to always exhibit an aura of control, plastic teeth blinding behind a glass screen. Perfection was achievable if only he tried. 𝙅𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙠𝙚𝙚𝙥 𝙩𝙧𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙜.
...
But he was tired...
So, so tired.
--- TRIGGER WARNING: This fic deals with themes of OCD, please stay safe. ---