Chapter Text
Cheesy sighed as he crumpled up another piece of paper and tossed it aside. His entire room was filled up with similar junk, as well as pencils broken from frustration accompanying them. He was trying to write down something; anything, for that matter, sticking close to Balloon's advice from a few weeks prior.
"Maybe try writing! It could help you express yourself a little." He'd been told. Cheesy didn't want to up and potentially hurt another object's feelings again like he did before with Microphone. This writing thing hadn't worked one bit, though…it was always either he made so many ridiculous mistakes, messed up his handwriting, cracked one too many jokes to cope with the terrible reality he was trapped in with no escape, or doodled in the margins of his notebook paper which just caused it all to be a big eyesore. It was late at night, and the moonlight glimmered through the gaps in his curtains.
He just wanted to distract himself. Was that wrong? So harmful that he was as exhausted as he was of crying himself to sleep, drowning in his salty tears as he faded away into unconsciousness for the night?
The hard surface of the chair below him made his legs throb, and he wanted nothing but to hit the hay. He twisted his pen between his fingers in thought, totally stuck on what to do for this next verse. It was weird; I guess Trophy's death really impacted the improv skills that he used to be able to label as a gift of his that not many other residents of the island were able to flaunt.
He caught himself drawing a few stars in the corner of his page absentmindedly, but his draft was already a lost cause so there wasn't much harm being done in ruining it even more. The dark circles under his eyes were growing more visible day by day, all-nighter after all-nighter, mental breakdown after mental breakdown. He yearned to be able to simply flop down on his bed, making out patterns in the ceiling as he whined relentlessly to his best friend about how nobody had given two fucks about his latest comedy show.
If only he could've called Trophy more than that. A crush didn't seem good enough. It was too late now, though. Trophy's soul and joy had all faded away into the wind, and so did Cheesy's romantic feelings for the most part. Ones that would never be requited in a million years. Cheesy tore up the sheet of paper he was staring daggers at in all his demotivation.
That was it. He couldn't handle it anymore. He stood up and just went to bed like any other night, tears stinging his eyes that were slowly fluttering closed as he remembered the times he'd be able to gladly fall asleep to that evening's jokes and puns from the only guy who he felt actually mattered to him on a daily basis.
The world faded away around him into nothing but darkness, just as it had felt when he stood at the lifeless grave that harbored the body of who Trophy once was.