Chapter Text
“Andrew was right about you, wasn’t he? Cowardly, and Egotistical.”
God, he really was just like his father, wasn’t he?
It was impossible to ignore the feeling of cold concrete nestled against his back, a sharp pain in his spine as the pale moon shined above as it did nearly every cloudless night, although now its judgement was obvious as every single twinkling star above stood witness to just how pathetic he really was. He used to love them, loved these stars for all the stories and myths about them that would give him inspiration… but now? The very sight of them just made him feel sick to his stomach. Whenever he stared, he could feel warmth within his chest for just a moment, that disgusting joy of when he and Andrew sat up here beneath them…
…
He was such a fucking failure, couldn’t even do this, huh? He was supposed to finally make a name for himself, finally do what he was meant to do and… and-!
…
He couldn’t even do himself a favor and do the one thing he could still do to finally make a name for himself, to not be some forgotten corpse in an empty church to be nothing but a bad memory. How does one accidentally fall backwards instead of forwards, fall onto the wrong side of a ledge? Couldn’t even properly do it, what a joke.
Groaning and rubbing a hand against his now sore back, it took every last bit of strength in his scrawny body to push himself back up onto his feet, limbs sore like he’s ran a hundred miles despite the fact he probably hasn’t even walked one this week, with there now being an uncomfortable wetness in his clothing as his reward for failure was landing directly into a shallow puddle from yesterday nights’ rain. He could already hear whispers in his mind, rattling in his skull that were angry and loud, practically screaming and yet somehow still quiet enough to be a whisper. It was that thing’s voice, still refusing to leave his mind, a foreign presence that refused to listen to any reason.
It was… speaking to him, cowardly and egotistical its favorite words as it said them on loop to him, like it was fact rather than an insult. The constant prodding and picking never stopped as it did so without care against whatever reasons Ivan tried to give for his actions. He didn’t question it, he stopped already as he knew it was right, that its current words were right, that he should just listen to it and turn around to finish the job. No, no! He hasn’t failed yet! That ledge was still right there, he should just back on that ledge and finish things! Let himself enjoy eternal remembrance no matter how little he knew he deserved it.
…
G-god, that’s a really big drop, isn’t it?
One peek over the edge nearly send him crashing backwards to the ground again as nausea settled deep within his gut, the world spinning harder and harder around him. He’s seen his father’s burnt corpse, dealt with the crippling feeling that came with Andrew both left and then returned just to hit him, lived with the ever-crushing feeling he’d among to nothing and yet it meant nothing in comparison to the deep and primal fear that suddenly found itself within him. He’s envisioned it for weeks now, the thought of his own body shattering to pieces or the feeling of cold metal piercing through his skull at the end of an axe. There wasn’t even an explanation for his hesitance given what he’s been seeing as of late, this was quite literally what he deserved what his destiny should be!
… And yet..
Some disgusting part within him deep inside writhed about and screeched at the thought, a piece of him that wasn’t quite ready for what came next and selfishly pushed the rest of him to stumble away from the edge and instead closer to that red access door. It was wrong of him to do such a thing, but he just couldn’t, couldn’t force himself to edge closer to the ledge, couldn’t fight that paralyzing fear that pulsed in his veins. If he died now, he’d be no different from his father, perhaps even worse off than him, really.
Would anyone but his own mother even show up? His closest friend, and only friend now hated him and would probably punch him again if they met face to face, and outside of him there just… wasn’t anyone else? No one that would bother wasting their time for him for anything but obligation. Would they even give him a funeral, a proper burial if the only person who’d bother to show up did so because of blood rather than care and love? He used to think his father was unlucky for only having nine people show up to see his corpse, but now he just felt envious.
No, he couldn’t be that same corpse, end up a mangled form with an unrecognizable face to be forgotten, yet another body in pieces they closed the casket for!
Despite the voice in his head that grew louder with every step to change course and return to that ledge, each step only moved towards the safety of the indoors as the red exit light pulsed like an accusation, his only guide as the hallway he was greeted with was near pitch black. A blessing, really, that most people were probably asleep by now. Ivan knew damn well he probably looked like shit right now, more like a zombie than a human as he’s… well, not exactly been on top of taking care of himself lately. He never was to begin with, but Andrew always gave him a reason to do so but with him long gone and him having precisely zero visitors coming and going to his apartment? Well, he simply ran out of reasons and time to do such meaningless things still. Thankfully, no one was out and about to judge him for his current state as if his own view of himself right now was poor, he knew others would think even worse. It was one of the few benefits of living in such a run down and cheap place filled with the unsavory sort (including himself), it meant that no one stayed outside longer than they needed to.
Opening the door with ease as he didn’t bother to lock it (after all, who gave a shit if he got robbed, he would’ve been dead), the apartment that showed itself to him was as dreary as always, very little decor about as the wall paper and carpet had seen better days, not looking like they’ve been changed or updated in years. It gave the place a dirty sort of look, even when it wasn’t filled with trash bags and empty bottles Ivan had long since given up on taking the time to throw out. He could hardly believe he used to see this place as something great a few years ago, a place to finally have his own freedom away from back home. To a younger him, being dirt cheap had been a benefit rather than a warning sign and not having to live with his parents was enough of a boon to overlook every waving red flag around this place.
Now it felt tainted, the place sickened by his presence despite how awful it had already been.
It was hard to overlook or ignore the pillow and blanket nestled in the corner by the tv, once a place that bedded another before they fled… even though it had been packed at once point and he had been an inch away from tossing it, he felt the urge to put it back, to put it back like someone still slept there. No one ever slept there though, of course, it was really just clutter in the room rather than a bed and yet he still refused to move them. Now, it was a silent reminder of what he did, the faint orange glow of the tv as it played who knows what shining upon it, its audio muted and silent as it was seldom watched anymore outside of the times he turned it up for background noise when he desperately wanted to pretend he wasn’t alone. As a result, it was almost always too quiet here, such as now when every footstep of his felt deafening, his heavy breathing making him feel rotten as his throat suddenly felt all too dry.
He felt like crying.
…
He felt like crying, but he didn’t deserve to cry. Just… just focus on something else… like… like fuck, when was the last time he actually drank some water? It probably wasn’t a good sign he couldn’t remember, when was the last time he even ate anything, or went out to get a restock of food and water? Turning a little as to not focus too much on the misery of the living room, a quick walk to and glance inside his fridge revealed it nearly empty, just some half-drank cola drinks which had no doubt lost their carbonation (no thanks, the taste just reminded him of the roof now and that was NOT what he wanted to think about right now), some unidentifiable foods which had gotten so old he couldn’t even tell what food they were (he’ll throw them out later), and, lastly, tucked away on the side door was some cheap booze that had been there for months now.
Andrew never really drank, not enough for it to be called a habit of his at the very least, so Ivan had no idea why he had even gotten this alcohol, nor when. It just… sorta showed up one day and he never bothered to question it, assuming that he was perhaps planning something that simply never came into fruition. Did alcohol quench thirst? He didn’t have any bottles of water and he liked to pretend he had enough dignity not to just drink from the faucet, so would it make do?
Ivan reached out and grabbed a bottle, it cold in his hands yet fitting oddly right. Thankfully, the cap was easy to remove and he brought it to his lips to take a deep swig… only to immediately cough it back up and onto the table, the taste revolting and leaving a mess near everywhere. How did people drink this stuff?! Ivan’s tastes were horrible but not even he could drink this with a straight face! He was half-tempted to turn around and just instantly dump it down the sink, followed by opening the rest and doing the same, but at the same time, his throat really did hurt like hell.
Letting out a noise of annoyance, he eventually put the bottle back to his lips and tried to ignore the taste, taking huge gulps and drinking what would perhaps be considered a worrying amount for someone who hasn’t eaten anything in the past two days. Despite the memories of psa’s flashing through his mind, of videos calling alcohol “the devil’s drink” and how it would ruin his life from one sip, he kept drinking as he didn’t exactly care about such things right now. He nearly fucking died not even ten minutes ago, why should he care about a drink that might kill him ten years later!
Or at least, it felt like ten minuets ago… strangely, every time he moved his head to look up at the clock, he couldn’t swore it was moving a bit too fast, jumping ahead with each blink as the clock hands were moving twice… triple their normal speed. Each sip seemed to make another ten minutes past by in a blink, especially as the thirst didn’t get better and he opened another bottle… or his fifth one? When did so many of these bottles get everywhere…? He was already starting to run out of alcohol even though he had such a decent amount tucked away, when did he start drinking so much? It made him feel… weird, not in a good way but not in a bad way either, it was… easier to think like this as his mind didn’t drift, rarely went back to… what again?
He was acting strange, wasn’t he, this lack of anxiety in him was… off, so it was probably a good idea to flee the kitchen and make his way to his own bedroom before he ended up passing out. If he had to look pathetic and collapse from drinking too much, he’d rather that happen in his bed than at his small kitchen table.
Stumbling, the alcohol was starting to kick in with more power then he could’ve predicted, it not helping his already sickly state as his legs didn’t seem to want to work and he struggled to not slam his head into every single wall as he turned the far-too-many corners to his room. His hands were quite literally starting to hurt as he practically beat them against the walls with the amount of times he had to catch himself before he could fall, and he was suddenly oh so incredibly grateful these walls were pretty soundproof. The last thing he needed now was his neighbors being privy to his display as he nearly put holes in his walls as he slammed his bedroom door open wide, uncaring of how the doorknob probably just made a dent where it crashed and…
Right, right he was starting to remember why he had started to make a habit lately of sleeping on the couch as… it, was staring right at him.
It wasn’t a person of course, what met him wasn’t eyes but the flat screen of a monitor, currently off of course and yet he swore he could see it glowing. Not his own, he pushed that thing aside weeks ago and replaced it with… his.
He never came back for it, never even sent a message to ask if there was a way to get it back, that computer he would spend hours upon hours on working on his games. He somehow managed to disgust the other so much that they would rather throw away hours of their work, of their livelihood and abandon so much of their progress just to ensure they never saw each other again. Ivan always wondered how Andrew got by without it, he had no real source of income so to leave this behind would not just be throwing away his game-making skills but also his only real way to make money since he could barely hold a job to save his life and he didn’t exactly have any family or other friends to rely on. Inside, some part of him felt bad, guilty that he did so much for Andrew to live behind something that was so intrinsic to who he was here… but another part was grateful as this computer was his lifeline these days.
There was so many hours he had spent just booting it up, staring at that old default wallpaper Andrew set up before the two of them even met that he had never bothered to change, desktop messy and filled with random files of whatever he had been working on the latest with no rhyme or reason. He always had his own system where even though his work was near incomprehensible to be combed through by anyone else, he could always handle the mess so easily. As for Ivan’s usage, he would just observe, opening up old unfinished game projects to walk around in but to also look at old emails and note pads of their writings of thoughts and ideas, mostly intended as reminders for the other. There was even several old versions of the game Ivan leaked out of spite he made an effort to avoid, the one that made Andrew come back after leaving just to hit him in the face and give him a black eye… it all felt so… pointless now. It could’ve all gone so differently if Andrew just saw things eye to eye with him, the other was perfect in nearly every single way except for his writing which, of course, Ivan was always better at, the one thing he was better at. Of course though, that wasn’t what happened and he just refused to see his way and let him fix up the script.
Even though he felt he was in the right, he deeply regretted it now. Andrew had been an idiot about it, to not see his way but if Ivan had known ahead of time that it would've ended like this? He would’ve just kept his mouth shut and not touched it. Andrew had been upset before when he left, but he at the very least answered back all his texts, and gave Ivan a hesitant promise that in time they’d see each other in person again! Now his texts to him weren’t even left on read, Andrew wouldn’t even open them or give them even a single glance, all his pleas not just ignored but shunned. Fuck, he really was an idiot to not see how lucky his father had been to have nine people show up, he doubted he’d even have three.
“So, so, pathetic,” a voice suddenly drawled, one that should’ve only existed inside of Ivan’s mind but distinctly came from the chair to that desk Andrew’s computer sat upon. It had happened so suddenly and made him flinch, but there was an unwelcome visitor in his room now, a hulking thing at the desk where Andrew’s computer had been moved to. No features were visible except for its mildly human shape and darkened strings that seemed to both be impaled into it as well as wrapped around its neck, strung up into the ceiling like it wasn’t even there and helping to hold up its weight like a puppet. Ivan couldn’t even tell if it was looking at him or the computer before it as its body seemed incapable of staying still for even a single second, glitching and spazzing continuously like corrupted coding. It just sat there, as still as it seemed capable of, a strange garbled static noise coming from that it that only quieted the smallest bit when it seemed to turn its head, or what co up d be considered its head at least. This… thing, he had no idea what it was or knew anything about it outside of the fact it’s been haunting him as of late, but what he did know is that its words hurt, them powerful as they dug deep into his skull like they were planning on making it their home.
“Couldn’t do it, could you? Finally, finally able to see what the right thing to do is, finally figured it all out, but too scared to push through… it would’ve been so easy,” its voice didn’t even sound taunting, just resigned and tired. Whatever it was, it wasn’t trying to be some beast straight from hell whose intent was to torture him, no, it spoke instead like its words were true, like they were common knowledge. It was probably right, really.”
“I know.”
“Do you? Do you know? I think you truly knew, you wouldn’t be here right now,” and despite how true its words felt, there was a spark of tired anger in Ivan as he growled, letting himself collapse onto the bed as he sighed, rubbing at his face. He didn’t need this right now, he already knew he was a fuck-up and the nail didn’t need to be pushed in further, “wallowing in bed instead of making things right, anyone who ever expected anything better from you was wasting their time.” He did his best to ignore it… he wasn’t doing a good job at that.”
Right now, he just wanted to sleep, to close his eyes and sleep for a year straight in the hopes that when they finally re-opened, Andrew would be there, finally having read his messages and realizing he made a mistake by leaving, rushing back to forgive him and let him make things right. Those words were like drugs, sharp and needle-like, but addictive regardless, the repeating “I forgive you” on loop in the few positive dreams he had before the reality that Andrew wouldn’t say that kicked back in. Yes… he deserved to be forgiven, he had always done right by Andrew, always trying to help! Sure, leaking that game was a bit anger-fueled, but it was what Andrew deserved for throwing out his work! For abusing his kindness!
His thoughts drifted back to that time he spent the night out by Andrew’s place, going out to find rosemary and finding his script, blowing away from whatever trash can Andrew tossed them in, the first dozen or so pages covered in red marker scribble that pretended to be criticism, stopping after a while as he seemed to give up on reading them. His fingers were digging into the sheets at the thought as his sadness was increasingly being replaced with anger. No, Andrew deserved it! He had been stalling on working on that game and his writing was mediocre at best, taking advantage of Ivan’s kindness and generosity! So much was on the line of it selling well and he refused to let him help! And.. and…
What was that clicking noise?
Ivan raised his head, letting out a few dazed noises as his anger was momentarily forgotten (but was just as quick to return) when he saw that tumorous being typing away at the keyboard, black and red corruption left behind with its fingers every movement. It took him a moment to even register what it was doing.
“So, so delusional, he was right to call you a liar, you know.”
“Hey, hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing!” It just continued staring at him, and despite its lack of… anything that resembled a face Ivan could tell it was looking at him as its hands typed quickly, writing who knows what. The sounds of it was driving him mad, so similar to the nights when Andrew would stay up late working even when Ivan was trying to sleep, flaming he had a burst of motivation he needed to act on then and there, even though most of said work would be rushed and barely usable in the morning. He had gotten over that habit fast after being yelled at a few times… and yet that made him even madder, “listen to me, don’t you dare touch that!”
“Pathetic, still clinging to hope selfishly and digging your teeth into him like a starving, rabies-infested mutt with a dying rabbit. You’re too much of a coward to accept your own wallowing, you always have to hurt somebody else in the process,” its claws suddenly plunged into the keyboard with enough force to make it whine as plastic bent a little too much for comfort, threatening to destroy it and before Ivan could even comprehend his actions, he was stumbling off the bed. He lacked strength, but he still did his best to try and lunge at the tumor, any attempts of rational conversation he perhaps would’ve tried in a clearer mind forgone as he tried to use his below average body weight to push this thing away before it could break anything, hands digging into its organ-like skin and drawing blood.
“Stop that! I swear to- I’ll fucking kill you if you don’t stop!” And yet it seemed unbothered at his raising voice, still typing despite its hands being dug into with a sort of manic anger.
“You can’t, you already failed to and we know you’ll fail again,” it said calmly, hitting the enter key with no sense of being bothered before its body shifted. Ivan was suddenly forced to become aware of just how big it was as it gave up on being passive, grabbing him by the hair and tugging with enough force to rip out a few strands as it held him in place with ease, “do you not yet see? There’s no point in keeping this thing when you know how it’ll turn out, might as well accept it now that you won’t like what he’ll send back in return,” it spoke, hand tightening with every syllable, words cryptic and probably having some meaning that Ivan couldn’t pick up as he was currently too busy in trying to dig his teeth into its many, many limbs.
From the corner of his eye, Ivan could see the screen lit up much brighter than before, words of gibberish typed by the tumor present and ever-shifting, whatever the hell it was trying to say completely incomprehensible… and yet whoever it was sent to seemed to understand it perfectly, a message sent back that seemed to be made of actual words, but Ivan couldn’t read them as the tumor clicked its non-existent teeth and kept talking.
“Never going to fix anything, I’ll tell you now. It’s ruined, you’re ruined, he ruined you and you want to ruin him back too much to ever repair yourself. You’re broken, and he can’t fix you,” and before he knew it, his head was crashing forward into the keyboard, over and over, pain in his head as a migraine felt like it was going to burst his skull open as the tumor slammed his head down, “he already won’t speak to you again, might as well take the pieces of wood that fell into the water when you tore it down and burn them too.”
Ivan growled like he truly was the mutt the tumor called him as, finally managing to shake off its grip and forcing him back against the wall. It made no effort to resist his efforts, simply cocking its head in curiosity, not at Ivan himself but at what hung above him like… an axe. It was coated in blood, more red visible from that then the actual paint and metal as it glimmered ominously. This thing haunted his dreams so often and yet it felt so natural in his hands. With a shaky grip, he reached for it, the weight heavier then normal as the tumor made a noise of disappointment.
Ivan growled like he truly was the mutt the tumor called him as, finally managing to shake off its grip, forced to back up until he could feel the wall. It made no effort to follow him cocking its head in curiosity, not at Ivan but at what was above him… the axe. It was coated in blood, more red from that visible than its actual paint, and it glimmered ominously. This thing haunted his dreams, yet also felt so natural in his hands. With a shaky grip, he reached for it, the thing feeling heavier than normal and he heard the thing make a noise of disappointment.
“You’re really trying this, aren’t you? Do you think this will change anything?” It spoke, voice raspier as it started to sound more and more familiar, “we both know how it’ll end up, and what will become of you in the end, but we both know I can’t truly stop you as unfortunate as it is and how little he deserves what you’ll do to him. Don’t be surprised, however, when this falls apart, when we eventually meet again.”
Ivan didn’t speak back to his goading and instead just scowled, a dangerous look in his eyes before he raised the axe and plunged it directly into what he presumed to be its skull, it collapsing all too easily as its form crumpled and every moving lump of flesh that was its limbs all violently stopped.
He was… expecting more really, for the axe to perhaps not do a single thing to it but all it did was give a few more violent, post-mortem shakes before stilling, body slumped as it couldn’t even give a deathly cry. The screen before it was still glowing with meaningless words, a conversation he wasn’t privy to as the other end said something Ivan couldn’t understand right now. A curiosity rang alongside anger, but the second he moved to brush his fingers against that keyboard, to perhaps sweep away the corruption, he was forced to pull them back as he suddenly felt burned, a pain flickering in his fingertips.
The anger that sparked through him was sudden and overwhelming, a rejection and betrayal at the keyboard that made him impulsively grab it, slamming it directly against the wall. As expected, it didn’t last such a his and it shattered into two, keys flying everywhere and one almost even hitting Ivan in the eye but he didn’t even flinch, too busy trying to ignore the fastly approaching regret as the computer shut off from the tugging of the keyboard cable dislodging a few from the wall as well, making the computer suddenly shut off, whatever words shared cut off and the conversation left unfinished.
He felt tired… so tired that he couldn’t help but just dropped the keyboard piece still in his hands softly on the desk, bumping his leg softly against the dormant axe on the floor as he didn’t even notice when he dropped it. With the tumor dead in the chair, lifeless and unmoving, his anger quickly began to drain out of him. With no target left to focus on, there was nothing to keep his fire burning and the brief reflection he could see of himself on the computer’s screen was monstrous. He.. he didn’t even know why he just killed it, it’s not like it was wrong, was it? He let his head thud against the wall, imagining it was somebody else he was leaving into rather than just wood but he met no warmth that only a body could produce. When… when did he start crying? He didn’t deserve to cry, not anymore.
The air itself felt like it was filled with lead, too quiet once more as Ivan turned and collapsed right into the bed, not even caring that his knees hit the edge too hard and made him wince, too busy mourning the lack of comfort from the pillow and blanket as they gave him nothing. It felt sickening to be here, like he would throw up if he even tried to stay here for a minute longer then needed. A brief glance at his clock read a hard 3:32… how had it nearly been an hour already, he… he had only been here for a few minutes, right?
No, not important to dwell on right now, not this late in the day. What was important was that he not stay in this room with that corpse and so he was stumbling again, back into the living room and into a particular corner that had been abandoned by another. He fell onto it without any grace, knees buckling as he simply couldn’t hold himself up anymore as a result of both the tire and the alcohol. The floor was anything but comfortable, the blanket there thin and the pillow old and small, and yet the memory of who this space once belonged to brought more comfort than his actual, expensive bed and he curled himself up in the scratchy fabric without care.
He could already imagine his father watching with disapproval, clicking a charred tongue as teeth that barely managed to stay attached rattled. It wasn’t normal, none of this was, not his feelings, his thoughts, his actions, the very fact he was alive, anything. Andrew was right, it was probably for the best his father was dead before he could have seen how disgusting he’d become.
——————
Sent March xx, xxxx 2:43AM
From [email protected]
Subject: (no subject)
Im sorry im sorrry srry for beng a fuckup, sorry I couldnt do it, imm sorry for hurrting you. Im horrible miss youu more then anythungg loov you and mis you please forgive mme. I couldnt do it, couldnt finish it im sorry, youre rightt about me I shouldnnt have ddone it i miss youu caant do anythiig withot yuu ples messag back.
———
Sent March xx, xxxx 3:10AM
From [email protected]
Subject: (no subject)
Ivan, what is this? Please don’t message me, I need this account in case I get a job opportunity, I don’t have the time to replace it right now, please just leave me be.
———
Sent March xx, xxxx 3:14AM
From [email protected]
Subject: (no subject)
Imm sorry Im sorry I’m so sorrrry I didn’t meen it. Please dont hate me I cantt sleep anymore withot you heer. Couldnn eev finih the job im sorry.
———
Sent March xx, xxxx 3:26AM
From [email protected]
Subject: (no subject)
You’re starting to concern me, if this is some joke or way to try and get back at me, please stop, I don’t want anything to do with you anymore.
———
Sent March xx, xxxx 3:28AM
From [email protected]
Subject: (no subject)
I’m sorry, I love you.
———
Sent March xx, xxxx 3:35AM
From [email protected]
Subject: (no subject)
Ivan? What are you doing right now? You’re scaring me.
———
Sent March xx, xxxx 3:49AM
From [email protected]
Subject: (no subject)
Why did you stop messaging me, please tell me you’re ok.
———-
Sent March xx, xxxx 4:03AM
From [email protected]
Subject: (no subject)
You got me to open up your texts so I guess if this was your plan, you’ve succeeded, so can you please just message me back? Please?
—————————
Andrew liked to believe that, despite all his shortcomings, all the shitty things he did growing up and the shitty things he did now to get by that he was a good person, someone who would always do the right thing when push came to shove, that no matter what happened he’d always be able to look back at himself and know he did good in the world when it came time to rest… and yet, he hasn’t felt good ever since he left that damned apartment.
No matter what happened, peace seemed to hate him the very second he got kicked out his home, his first one. Forced to scrounge up enough money for his own place with little to his name but coding skills as he lost any support he could’ve had from both family and old friends alike, he only really had luck to thank for him not ending up on the streets. Despite how horrible his situation was, the one friend he had then was his lifeline, the only comfort in a life outside of video games that didn’t try to beat him down.
It had been nice… for a while, but all things came to an end eventually. Living on his own was simply not sustainable, not with his lack of income and not with the endless struggles he had been having on his latest project, so when Ivan eventually offered to let him move in? Well, he had been ecstatic!
And even now, months later, it was still hard to believe the same Ivan that comforted him that night, the one who kept him from going homeless and sleeping in the streets or in his truck, would be the one who made his life a living hell. Slamming doors, shouting words that aimed to cut into his heart, he remembered everything as they were as fresh in his mind as a still bleeding knife wound. He should’ve left sooner, but leaving was somehow scarier than staying, how could someone like him hold down a real job when he never finished high school? Never worked one before? He wasn’t built for such soul-crushing work, and the promise of shelter and food was enough to keep him around longer than he ever should’ve considered.
Until, eventually, it was just too much.
Now he lives in a crappy shared apartment with two others a good few years younger than him, barely able to get by off of the odd job here and there and yet… it was the happiest he’s been in months! Sure, he barely had any money, or friends, or any career aspects while his computer was still back there (assuming Ivan didn’t toss or destroy it), but the sheer relief at being able to wake up late in the day and not be yelled for it, when the cause of him sleeping in so late the result of said yeller, made up for it ten-fold.
It was why, obviously, that he couldn't help but get oh so angry at himself for ruining it because he just had to, had to open up those emails Ivan sent him when he had been doing so well at ignoring his attempts at digging his claws back into him. Seeing those emails shouldn’t have made him so worried, so stressed and anxious. He should’ve just deleted them the second he saw them and yet… they were so uncharacteristically off.
Ivan was proud of his work, even if he was a bit of a plagiarist, and it was impossible to imagine such messages, full of spelling mistakes and lacking any of the cleverness of Ivan’s words were there. He wanted to believe them manipulation, but even when mopey Ivan never wrote like this, never so sloppy or full of ominous implications, but now what? What does he even do with such messages from a former friend he swore to never see again no matter how much he wanted to for his own sake!
He let out a shaky sigh, leaning back in his chair, wishing he had deleted this account like he had once planned to as it barely got any attention anyways and it was always a possibility that the other would message him through it… but some part of him was terrified of cutting him off fully. Not leaving a single avenue to speak through was final, a true cutting off point and the idea scared Andrew, the fact things were truly ending hurting more then it should’ve for how much of a piece of shit Ivan was. It was his only company yet, terrible, terrible company, but he wasn't quite ready to be all alone and now he was paying the price for it.
His eyes wandered for a moment and he tried not to look at it, at the image that still sat on his desk full of innocence. He looked so much happier there, him and Ivan doing… something? He couldn't even remember that day or what they were doing. Was it mundane, some boring average day or did they do something special, maybe go to an event or try out a new arcade or something? Either way, they had been so happy, his younger self lacking the stress ones he now had while Ivan lacked that judging glint in his eyes he so often had. Memories of happier times flowed through his head unwillingly, memories before that night when he was willingly left behind by so many save for the person who chose to hurt him most.
His finger ghosted over that delete key, tempted. This is what he should do, leave this all behind and just pretend he never saw it, go to bed and sleep like he should be doing right now and pretend it wouldn't haunt his dreams tonight and the rest of his life if something did happen. Ivan was horrible, don’t forget that! Ivan hurt him beyond believe and tainted his image of the one good friendship he had left! Ivan was so bad he made him flee and seek out being alone over being with him! He should just delete it…
And yet, memories of Ivan’s hands on his back, patting it and trying to offer comfort when he clearly didn’t know how to flashed in his mind, of that vulnerable night he spoke of his father, the way he had once always seemed so, so desperate to prove himself to Andrew…
With fast writing, fingers moving before he could even comprehend what he was doing, Andrew hit send as he walked away from the shitty computer he had “borrowed,” before waking off and fishing out the truck keys left in a bowl on his desk, knowing damn well he was probably going to regret all of this.
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Sent March xx, xxxx 4:38AM
From [email protected]
Subject: (no subject)
I’m coming over.
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