Death is nonexistent

This is what occupied his mind as he stood alongside the row of sinks, watching gentle, thin rivulets of blood lap down bumpy knuckles. The rush of water filled up the air bloated with silence beside either ear, though he’d zoned so effectively that his world was made, in that moment, only of the split skin drawn taut over joints. Pain was an obscure, paranoid, social fever, and at the moment, it had busily wandered outside to address the murmuring crowd, rather than hanging around his hands like…handcuffs.

At the sound of the door opening, the slightest tilt of a jaw brings the fluorescent light of the bathroom a radical inch closer to the left of his glasses.

The teenager turned a gaze sidelong, brown curls partially obscuring his view of the hunched figure staggering its way through the swinging door. Death, he saw, was twisted into horrible, grotesque knots over the other’s head, whispering things of panic and haste into lively ears. Maybe those kind of words would snake into his head, like leeches, or tapeworms. Feed off that kind of fear for the rest of his…ahem. Life.

Eye straightened up from his hunch, unceremoniously wiping his own blood onto white button up, rather than running them underneath the water.

The olive branch of a gesture went ignored, as most things do in the state of a panic attack. He’d know, he’d only just recovered from one moments prior. But, really, to ignore his presence altogether…interesting. Blank stare watches, mesmerized, as a bead of sink water hung off a strand of dark hair, quivering, like…like the first wet breaths of a freshly birthed fawn. Lungs still slick with blood, life hanging on with the strongest grip it would ever manage.

“Have you ever felt so alive?” he said, blank expression rivaling that of a poorly carved statue. Poorly carved, because the stone set forth by long-gone Greeks had more life than any flesh vessel he’d ever set Eyes on.

Options: Run. Respond. Hide. Screa--

“No-” the actor put a hand to his forehead, grabbing some of his hair at well. Don’t go back to that, he thinks, remembering the days he would spend coming up with stranger and stranger ideas.

The pressure of the world around him has been building up, and it’s become extremely difficult to keep being what he’s built up. What other people have built him up to be. It feels as though the shackles on his legs have tightened- he can’t have any free will by now, it must have been taken away.

Options: Scream. Threaten. Cry. Barf-

“No!” Umbral shouts, finally looking over at his bloody peer. Yes, it immediately occurs to him that Eye has started a trend of being a bloody bastard around him. Literally and metaphorically. He slams his hands against the sink before fully turning towards his peer. Doing so only agitates the pressure consuming Umbral’s unusually delicate mind.

“I don’t want to hear a WORD from you, Eye! You don’t even take this seriously! None of you take this seriously!”

Choice: Scream.

“All of you only care about your stupid relationships! Who fucked who, who likes who- it sickens me! But you, you’re the worst. You don’t care about anything! Did this even phase you? Are you happy? Are you proud of yourself? Because you’re sure as hell calm about everything!” He gets closer to Eye, but he’s out of arms’ distance.

“You’re disgusting, and so is everyone else! You’re all shit! I fucking hate being here, and you all make me want to-!”

He stops suddenly, then takes a deep breath. Calm down. Calm down. Calm. Down.

The actor drags his hand down a few inches away from his face, and clenches it into a fist. He appears calmer now, but he himself doesn’t notice that he’s trembling.

“Hey, how about that for a performance, huh? Was I convincing? Did you think I was really freaking out?” Umbral grins, then holds out his hand as some kind of peace offering. “I didn’t mean it, you’re not shit. A little disgusting, but not shit.” The boy leans ever so sliiiiightly.