Chapter Text
Paper stared out the window, a frail emaciation. Crumpled and weak, needing a clipboard to hold his weight, the room he was in was dim, heavy, only illuminated by the crack under the door. He swiveled around, feet touching the ground, steps heavy and weary. He heaved and groaned, mumbling as if his legs could no longer support himself. The manager grabbed the suitcase, opened it before muttering in disappointment. A few 100 dollars from the million he had won. He sometimes wishes pickle beat him, wistfully pondering what his like could’ve been like. After season 2 his life really fell apart, he begged OJ not to, he didn’t have to.
“OJ I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have yelled at you!”
He gasped. Grabbing his hand, shaking.
“You only meant well! You just wanted to make me happy! You know how i am under stress!”
He tore gripping tighter, apologizing profusely. Why did he have to yell? Why did he scold someone he loved just because they threw a party for him, he heaved and cried, burying his face into OJ, the glass made him loosen his grip, staring down at him with nothing but apathy.
“OJ.. id never hurt you…”
“Oh Paper, you already have.”
He choked back tears as he awoke. Sitting in his bedroom, OJ slept facing the wall, Paper needed the comfort so he closed the gap between them, hugging his husband. He held back a sob as the other adjusted, inching away from his arms, he let go of the embrace and let his arms lay open at his sides, staring at the ceiling. His marriage had turned sour.