Work Text:
Endless days were passing Ghost by as he lied in his bed and scrolled mindlessly through social media. He was… tired. Exhausted even. Not enough to not be able to move, but definitely enough to struggle with showering and just… getting his mind to do anything besides overthinking. He felt disappointed in himself - he couldn’t focus on studying, he couldn’t focus on working on lyrics… actually, he just genuinely felt like he sucked. In everything. His friends hated him (he knew they didn’t - still, it didn’t change how he felt), and he couldn’t even blame them. He was a total failure. He always has been, actually.
School started barely a month ago, it was October. He usually loved October. He loved fall in general - colorful leaves, last beams of sunlight, rain and the temperature that was just right… but right now, as he was curled up on his bed and couldn’t even pull the blinds down without an argument with his mother, he wanted it to be winter. He wanted it to be freezing cold, gray and ugly. He wanted his mood to match the weather. He wanted to be sick, physically sick - because that’s the only way of feeling at least a little more valid for struggling.
He had a math test coming, he should be studying… but he couldn’t focus on the numbers, and he couldn’t focus on the letters and words and sentences in his history book either. His head was aching, a constant migraine he had for two weeks. Once again, it wasn’t bad enough. At least not for anyone to care.
Maybe he really was lazy? Maybe he just should have sucked it up and started doing stuff…? But he couldn’t have done that. He couldn’t force himself to do anything at all and it made him feel so guilty it was unbearable.
When he eventually got up from his bed, he was a mess. He had school the next day, and his hair was all greasy. His room was a mess as well, but not as much as his mind. But he still managed to grab some clean clothes and stumble to the bathroom.
He texted Sematary back on his way there, saying that he’s fine. Wren sometimes wondered if he could tell when his mood was significantly worse, but he doubted it - they both constantly made jokes about how much they want to die and said that everything sucks. He didn’t blame Zane for not knowing if that was the case.
He took a shower, hell, he even shaved. Brushed his teeth and cut his bangs that started to fall into his eyes a long time ago at that point. He got dressed and left the bathroom, trying not to get too mad about the dampness of his hair. He was going to forget it after a while anyway.
He cleaned up his room - not much, but he made it liveable again. He put history and math books on the desk even though he knew he wasn’t going to study. He just wanted to make it seem like he had it together.
As he sat on the neatly made bed, his thoughts drifted back to Sem. He was checking on him every now and then, and Ghost wished it was more. That it wasn’t weird for them to be closer. That he could text Zane saying he missed him and he was sorry for not being able to hang out. To explain why things were that way.
Maybe if he could share his pain, it would be easier. Maybe if someone - that someone preferably being Sematary - knew that he was suicidal, that he hurt himself and cried to his sleep… maybe then he would feel less miserable.
But he was too shy to talk about such things with him. Too… embarrassed, actually - not just “shy”. Zane was always so… tough, so confident. Wren knew he had his problems, but they didn’t seem to affect him as much. They didn’t make him appear weak and exhausted. They weren’t the same.
So he could only go back to lying in his bed, watching the sun set as he imagined that Sem was right beside them, holding him, the two of them talking about everything with no shame.
Being vulnerable, for once.