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inbetween the soft fabrics of a slightly worn out pillow, laid the head of a sixteen year old rocket. not a single object was lit around the room, and his eyes glanced into the inked ceiling around his room.
it's been around at least months from escaping playground, and a few weeks upon meeting sword. "he's such a push over." from a singular thought soon rapidly began to plague his head. "hes so clingy, so loud, so annoying, so—"
" bye rocket! ill see you soon okay? "
" ...yeah. "
his face shifted to a certain silhouette atop his mattress. swirled and mixed around his blankets. as the palm of his hand wrapped itself around it, he immediately grabbed the anonymous object, only to recognize the texture.
sword's shirt.
it must've been a spare he brought just in case venomshank told him to stay overnight, he thought. either way, he wasn't surprised over the small remnant of his friend. he is known to be a bit forgetful. nonetheless, his hand latched onto the shirt, pulling it closer to him.
it was... odd. he's never known to crave so much of someone's presence up until now. it shifted closer, and closer, close enough until he could smell sword's presence. the shirt was strangely comforting. the texture soothing, as if sword's body was tangling itself around him. the scent sent butterflies inside rocket's stomach, which soon felt bitter on his tongue.
no, this was bad. the more he enjoys this, the more the desire to have sword's presence around him grow. the thought of rocket himself becoming a clingy person was already sickening enough, akin to observing a vision of an evil doppelganger! despite the chaos ensuing inside his head, he persisted.
he held the piece of fabric closer, embracing the small glimpse of comfort he before, never got for a few moments. and he knew the consequences.
getting closer to sword meant he would hurt him one day. he's already caused enough damage to his friend, and himself. the thought of being aware of the consequences makes him a better person, right? better than a violent, destructive jerk who doesn't know what he's doing at all..... right?
alas, a small epiphany illuminated inside him—maybe he doesn't have to feel that way anymore. maybe he barely changed, but he's in a better environment. theres sword, zuka, the teal-horned guy who sword hung out with sometimes.
and so, he presses the shirt onto his face. his body flared with warmth, the butterflies feeding off of his guts once more. he'll give the shirt back tomorrow, but for now he'd rather enjoy a remnant of his dearest friend, close to him.
" you left this yesterday. try remembering things better next time. "
rocket's fingers slid out of the sleeve of his hoodie, reaching the shirt out to sword. ironically on the other hand, the red horned inphernal only stood still and giggled, leaving the other glaring and confused.
" why are you laughing? whats so fucking funny, huh?"
sword continued to giggle, slowly morphing into a laugh. the typical, defensive rocket rose up, prepared to beat sword if he ever said another word.
" you should be grateful im giving this back to you. and you think—"
" you can keep it. "
a clueless blink spread across rocket's face. sword waving his hands, signaling an "its okay."
" ...huh?
" its pretty worn out! thought you'd need more clothes since zuka probably doesnt take you shopping. "
he does, every once in a while. all rocket could let out was a scoff over the failed assumption. nonetheless, his hand lowered, as well as the carried shirt. a noticeable shift in his expression occured. he morphs from a destructive creature to, someone filled with guilt. he didn't mean to lash out, and so, he tries not to hurt sword.
a quiet "sorry" muttered out of rocket's lips. the oblivious sword, obviously not catching on it could only gift him a warm smile.