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Everything was horrible.
Skizz wasn't usually one to catastropize. He usually was optimistic, happy-go-lucky, all the things that made him the man he was.
There's also the fact that he was horrendously over sensitive sometimes.
Think of it like a ticking clock. A clock always hits 12, right? One way or another. 12 is doomsday. Where he- for lack of a better phrase- just completely shuts down. Of course, he has ways to stave off midnight. Things like going home to recharge, or maybe going out into nature, or reading a psychological book or four.
But eventually, he reaches his limit, no matter how hard he tries.
Back to the main point. Everything is horrible. Why, you may ask? Well, Skizz is an idiot, first and foremost. As well as that, he doesn't know how to take a break. Recipe for disaster.
So, how did he get here?
Well, he was trying to hang out with Impulse. The two were enjoying a quiet night in after a long week of work, hermit meetings, and just general life. The start of a season was always like this, Impulse said.
And Skizz was completely exhausted, yet not in the sleepy way. The bone-tired way, the kind that drained everything from you. Due to the busy schedule, he hadn't had any time to indulge in his interests, and so that was grating him, too. The smells of his body wash were too strong, and the taste of the dinner, amd the feel of his clothes, and he wanted to just scream and tear his hair out, and of course Impulse was tip-tapping on the arm of the couch, likely in his own world. He could hear the loud music, probably Tool or something, bleeding through the headphones, and-
"Impulse." Skizz says suddenly. It comes out half-choked, almost like a cry for help. He hated how weak he sounded.
"What's up?" Impulse replies, whipping his head up so fast that his headphones fall off. Skizz winces as they clatter to the floor.
"I- Um." He tries, but that's when his words stop. He attempts to get something else out, but it's futile.
Impulse quickly notices. Slowly, carefully, as to not annoy him visually, he puts his hands up. He points to his mouth, then makes a thumbs up, and a thumbs down. Asking if he should talk or not.
Skizz takes a deep breath, then pinches two of his fingers together. Quietly.
"Hey, buddy. What happened? Can you say?"
Skizz shakes his head. One of his hands comes up to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. The other makes a fist and rubs his chest. Sorry.
"No need. Is everything too much?"
Skizz nods.
"That's alright. Thank you for telling me. What do you need right now."
Skizz thinks for a moment. Tearing his fingers away from his hair, he slowly, almost nervously crosses his arms over his chest.
Hug.
"I can do that. Tight, yeah?" Impulse says, slowly scooching closer. Skizz nods.
Impulse then wraps his arms around Skizz, and it was like all the tension was flushed out of him. He exhales shakily, tucking his head into Impulse's shoulder.
Of course, everything wasn't immediately fine, because of course it wasn't. But, it was a start. With Impulse wrapped around him, Skizz felt safer. He was like a shield against the outside world.
Slowly, everything turned less horrible.