Work Text:
CJ lied on his bed staring up at the blank ceiling. He raised a hand up, looking over his chipped nail polish. It was like had just woken up for a nap or nights sleep. Or perhaps as if no time at all had past. But it did, he knew it did.
He slowly sat up, looking around his room. He saw the instruments he usually kept neatly against the wall now scattered across the floor. Crumpled up balls of paper and broken pencils covered his desk. Why did so many have to get broken?
His head felt fuzzy. He felt whole, yet empty at the same time. He ran his fingers over his jacket, feeling the material under his touch to try and bring himself back to the moment. CJ played the events over and over again in his head the a broken record.
Three different sets of events. Three different sets of emotions. It painted a picture for him. It told a story of a broken man. A story he wasn't a part of, yet still belonged to him.
CJ finally found the strength within him to stand up. He walked over to his computer, moving the papers and pencils to the side. FL Studio was open, an unfinished song plastered on screen. He picked up one of the papers, careful unballing it, so he could read what was written.
A desperate plee. A cry for help. A conversation. Arguing. Begging. The writer fighting and praying to finally end the cycle. To finally be whole again. CJ picked up another paper and read that one as well. It was the same. It always was.
He always had a vague idea of what happened. All the memories would come flooding back all at once, reminding him of how truly broken of a person he was. He could never hold himself together when it all got to be too much.
They were whole now. He was whole. CJ sighed, dropping the papers back to the desk before going over to the discarded instruments. He carefully picked them all up, placing them to where they belonged.
He always had to pick up a mess. It was like they didn't know how to keep clean. Not like he blamed them. He himself had never been known for his organisation skills. It made sense that those aspects of him would be reflected in the three.
The fuzzy feeling was finally starting to fade as he cleaned. He was getting a grip an finally being himself again. He could worry about the finer details at a later date. For now he would focus on cleaning up the mess that was left behind, so he could fully clear his head.
He was whole once more and he would work to keep it that way. This time would be different. No more splitting. No more loops. It would just be him. Just one singular him. It had to be. He needed it to be that way.