Chapter Text
“Stop going through my goddamn shit, Puffer! I swear to fuck! Get your grubby fucking fish hands away from—…”
“I wasn’t going through your shit! I was just leaving you a nice surprise.”
“There is glitter and confetti all over my fucking walls and floor!”
Smii7y rolled his eyes. At this point, he should use Droid and Puffer’s arguing as his alarm rather than setting one since they never failed to wake him up before it. Groaning, he sat up and stared at his door. He didn’t have the energy to try and get them to stop screaming today.
Exiting his room, he was about to walk straight past before he got a glance into Droid’s room. It was fucking sparkling. Wheezing slightly, he kept his head down and continued walking downstairs. He heard Droid scream, “Oh, fuck you, dickhead!”
Pezzy and John were cooking together. Whatever it was smelt amazing. He stayed silent, not bothering to interrupt their conversation. He glanced over at Matt, sleeping on the couch again. Smii7y scoffed. The living room had practically become Matt’s bedroom with how often he napped there.
“Smii7y!” Pezzy greeted. “Hello!”
“Hi,” he replied dully.
John turned around, staring at him. Smii7y eyed him back.
“Hey, J—… Kryoz.”
“Morning, Smii7y.”
Smii7y clicked his tongue. “What’s on the menu today?”
“Pancakes!” Pezzy chirped out.
As soon as the two were done preparing the last one, Smii7y noticed Pezzy eye John with a smile and a slight nod before walking away. Confused, he watched Pezzy leave the room before staring at John, who was staring back.
“What’s going on?” Smii7y mumbled.
John carefully approached him, stopping right in front of him. “Look… I just—… I’m… concerned about you.”
Smii7y blinked. “Don’t be. I can handle myself just fine.” He rolled his eyes.
“I… know that. But, Smii7y, listen I—... Well, I just…” John trailed off. “Come to my studio when you’re done eating, please.”
Silently, Smii7y raised an eyebrow at him. John didn’t offer any more explanation and just handed Smii7y a plate. He retreated back to his room, trying his best not to dwell on it. He ate slowly, slightly nervous for what John was going to bring up. When he was finally done, he walked into the green studio, watching John put away a few things in his drawers.
“Hello?” Smii7y muttered.
John perked up, glancing at him. “Oh, hi! Okay, give me one moment.” John closed the drawer and rushed over to the other side of the room, kneeling down and grabbing a few things from the cabinet. He got up and walked up to Smii7y. “Could you, uhm, roll up both of your… sleeves?”
Smii7y blinked at him. “Why the fuck would I do that?”
John stared at him, his expression pleading. Sighing, Smii7y complied, hesitantly pulling up his hoodie sleeves. John mumbled, “Stay still.”
Pouring some liquid on a cotton pad, the other gently pressed it against some of Smii7y’s fresh cuts. Hissing, he bit back the urge to snap his hand back. He whined, trembling at the sting. John finished up, putting bandaids on any deep cuts.
Smii7y glanced up at John. “Does… Pezzy know?”
“No… I didn’t tell him, I’d feel really bad if I did. I just told him I wanted to ask you something in private, so that’s why he was happy to leave.”
Smii7y didn’t bother hiding his relief. He retracted his arms, pulling down the sleeves.
Hesitantly, John mumbled, “Hey, uhm, I heard about this through Droid and I was just wondering about it.” The other stayed quiet for a bit, deep in thought. “Do—… Well, hm… Have—…” John was struggling to get out a single sentence. Smii7y rolled his eyes, about to interject, before John finally settled his mind on what to say. “He mentioned that he, like, raised his arms around you and you… flinched? Like, flinched really hard.”
Silently, Smii7y kept his eyes on the ground.
John continued, “Obviously, flinching is natural; it’s human nature. It’s the brain’s automatic reaction when it senses danger: to protect itself. The startle reflex—…”
“What are you asking?”
Meeting his eyes, John swallowed nervously. “Uhm…” He took a sharp inhale.
Smii7y furrowed his brows at him. He knew exactly what John was suggesting, but he wanted to hear him say it. “What are you asking, John?” He frowned. He made sure not to let John see how he was shaking slightly.
“Are you gonna get… upset, if I… ask it?” John muttered, glancing at Smii7y.
“I think you should stop digging around shit that is my fucking business.”
John eyed him, nervously. “I—… What? Smii7y—… I’m just… concerned about you. I’m not… trying to—…”
Smii7y scoffed.
Desperately, the other stared at him. “I’m not… trying to invade your privacy or—…”
“Fuck off,” Smii7y mumbled. “I don’t need anyone’s fucking comfort. I don’t need anyone analyzing everything I do and try find a reason behind it. I don’t need someone who keeps insisting that I truly am a kind person.”
“You are…”
“No, I’m not!” he exclaimed. Smii7y took a deep breath, taking a step back. “Just, leave me alone.”
John was silent. “I…” His voice was wavering, shaky and unsteady. “I… j-just wanted to… help—… help you…” A muffled, breathy sob filled the room.
Smii7y blinked, staring blankly. He backed away slowly before darting out of the room, ducking into his room. Sighing, he sat down on the ground, dazed. He bit his lip.
He was undoubtedly going to be receiving a long lecture from Pezzy tomorrow.
He lit a cigarette, slowly taking a few drags, lost in his mind. Tilting his head back against the edge of his bed, he shut his eyes.
***
“I know,” Smii7y mumbled, rolling his eyes.
Pezzy snapped his fingers in front of Smii7y’s face. “Look at me when I’m talking to you, for God’s sake. Please, just try to be a little sympathetic—…”
“I know,” he groaned, barely listening.
“What the fuck has gotten into you?!” Pezzy shouted, slightly startling Smii7y. “Look, you were shitty before, but I swear, now it’s just getting worse! John asked me to give you a chance, and I did! But now look: you made him fucking cry. You can’t fucking be here if you keep acting like this.”
Smii7y stared at him, scoffing.
“Smii7y… I think it would be best if you stayed in a… hotel… for the time being.”
Smii7y laughed, but Pezzy just glared at him.
“I’m serious…”
Snickering, Smii7y responded, “Yeah, sure.” He scoffed.
Pezzy frowned at him.
Smii7y’s smile dropped slightly. “…What?”
“Look, I can pay for it and shit. I know one not too far away which is pretty nice. I know you don’t have a job, so I’ll try send you some money for food, and for food only, every once and a while.” Pezzy sighed. “I think it would be best… to let you cool off some steam. Okay?”
Silently, Smii7y glared at Pezzy before snapping his head away. “You’re a fucking asshole.”
“I… think this would benefit all of us, okay? I’m not trying to kick you out—…”
“Yes, you are!” Smii7y snapped out. “Whatever, I don’t wanna be around you guys anyway.”
Rushing back to his room, he packed a few things: clothes, booze, cigarettes, any money he had left—which barely added up to ten dollars. He sniffed slightly, his breathing shaky. Holding back choked sobs, he shoved all of his stuff into the backpack Pezzy had gotten him a few years ago.
He mumbled under his breath, “Fucking stupid fucking cunt.” Snarling, he scoffed, sighing deeply. He sat on the ground, processing what Pezzy just said. Tears pricked at his eyes but he just wiped them away with shaky hands. ”God damnit…”
***
Smii7y couldn’t remember the last time his whole body wasn’t shaking from either frustration, panic, or mental anguish. His mind was constantly racing, forcing him to stay awake all night. He felt fucking godawful. The last human interaction he had gotten was Pezzy, three days ago—not including the receptionist at the hotel which he barely spoke to.
To summarize: Smii7y was losing his mind.
His eyes had been dried of tears, so the most he could do was scream into his pillows and melt into the ache in his throat. He hadn’t been responding to any messages.
He had 2 from Droid, 4 from Puffer, 7 from Grizzy, 13 from Pezzy, and 42 from John.
He hadn’t read most of them, since he had been tuning out the text notification sounds for most of the time.
Smii7y, if he was being honest, didn’t know what to do. His main goal was just to survive: remember to eat food, drink water, have at least some basic hygiene, use melatonin sometimes to get some rest, and pace around in circles as some form of exercise. His main goal hadn’t shifted from that until he remembered that he was in the United States, where buying a gun was almost easier than buying a milkshake. And, lucky for him, the state he was in did not require gun licenses—God knows he wouldn’t be able to get one with his current mental state.
So, a revolver was lying on his bedside table.
A .357 magnum—if he were to get into specifics.
It was right beside a brief, short note that he refused to even glance at again.
There was a precise reason why he had chosen a revolver, and not a regular glock of some sort; that reason was the drum. It gave him a bit of a chance of living, per-say. Not a very good one—one out of six—but a chance. Five bullets were loaded into it, spun and ready to be fired.
He was scared. This was the only thing that had been on his mind recently, infesting it. But, what did he have to lose?
Droid would be glad to finally be freed of the ‘druggie’ in the house. Puffer would be relieved to have some peace and quiet from the strong smell of alcohol. Matt would have more opportunities to relax and sleep as much as he wished. Grizzy wouldn’t be constantly getting ignored by some dickhead who refused to talk to him. Pezzy would be happy that he wouldn’t have to take care of Smii7y anymore and could finally get some well-deserved rest. And Smii7y wouldn’t have to keep pushing away all his problems with alcohol and nicotine. Everyone would be better off.
He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the gun. It had his full attention, captivating him in a way he didn’t know was possible.
He had thought about this so many times, dreamt about it, fantasized about it, but he had never expected to actually be in this situation.
Smii7y picked up the gun.
It felt cold against his hot, flushed, sweaty hands. He was trembling. Every breath he took felt like it was going to be his last. Staring at the gun silently, he bit his tongue.
He really was doing this…
Smii7y sighed quietly, holding the gun more firmly. Water dripped down his cheeks, but he barely noticed.
No-one would notice, he told himself. No-one would care.
He carefully raised the gun, pointing it against his chin.
Click.
Dazed, Smii7y blinked. He wasn’t dead? He moved the gun down from his head and checked the drum. He had gotten the one with no bullet. Smii7y inhaled sharply. He was fucking alive?
Dropping the gun, he slowly slid down to the floor, digging his face into his knees and silently weeping. One out of six chance. He could pick up the gun and finish the job, but he was shaking so much that he couldn’t even will his body to move. Smii7y covered his mouth with his palm, trying to mute his sobs.
What was he doing with his life?
He dug his hands into his hair, gripping tightly.
He was a mess.
***
Smii7y stared at his phone blankly, Pezzy’s voice ringing out in the air.
“Hey Smii7y, return my calls when you can, please…”
Smii7y didn’t shift. He just stared, listening to the other.
“You haven’t responded to any of my texts… or John’s. I’m getting a bit concerned… Look, I don’t—… Well, I’m not exactly sure what’s going on with you right now but… God, how do I ask this?”
Smii7y frowned.
Pezzy took a deep breath. “You’re… alive, right? Can—… Can you please just confirm that for me? You didn’t… uhm, kill—…” Pezzy paused, inhaling sharply. “You didn’t… kill yourself, right?”
Shutting his eyes, Smii7y tilted his head back against his wall. He pulled his legs up to his chest.
“I—… Uhm, I just hope you… haven’t. I’m coming to the hotel in an hour or so… I hope I see you there…” Pezzy’s voice stopped, leaving the room in silence.
Smii7y bit his tongue. Pezzy had left that voicemail just under an hour ago, which means that he could turn up any moment.
Rubbing his eyes, Smii7y pushed himself up off of the ground, stumbling a bit and having to lean against the wall for support. He was exhausted. An exhausted wreck. His head was pounding and he was on the verge of collapsing. He slipped on a long-sleeved hoodie, as if to try hide how fucked up he was.
He heard a knock on the door.
Smii7y was slightly startled, not having expected Pezzy to have turned up so soon. He put his ear up to the door.
“…Smii7y?” Pezzy called out, “Are you… there?”
“What do you want?” he replied simply, through the door.
He heard a sharp gasp. “Smii7y! Oh my fucking—… Jesus, you… worried me. I thought…” Pezzy trailed off. “Can you open the door?”
Hesitantly, Smii7y complied, creaking the door open. “What do you want?” he repeated.
Pezzy eyed him. “You… look like shit.”
“Gee, thanks. If that’s all, you can be on your way.” He started closing the door.
“Wait!” Pezzy squeaked out. “Smii7y, I’m concerned about you. I think you… need professional help.”
“I’m fine.”
Pezzy glared at him quietly, thinking about what to say. The silence between them was suffocating. Smii7y stood there, mentally hoping that this conversation would be over soon. He was tempted to just slam the door straight in Pezzy’s face. All the other came here for anyway was to check that he was alive, and he was, for now. Smii7y raised an eyebrow at him, hoping to get him to say something, preferably ’bye’.
“I can’t leave you like this, dude.”
Smii7y scoffed.
“I can just smell the fucking addiction on you. It’s repulsing. I feel like, if I walk away today, the next time I visit, you physically won’t be able to open the door.”
He wasn’t wrong, Smii7y decided.
“I think, maybe, you should try to do some, like… well, you know what I mean? Reach out to—…”
Out of all the things Smii7y was expecting himself to do, fucking pass out straight onto the ground was not one of them. He knew his body was weak and fragile from all the neglect he was putting it through, but he didn’t know it was that bad.
Smii7y wasn’t exactly sure what happened after that, since, well, he was fucking unconscious, but he knows that Pezzy must have brought him to a hospital, because he awoke in a hospital bed with no recollection of how he got here. Beeps filled the room, speeding up slightly as he regained his senses and took in his surroundings. He knew he was absolutely screwed. Groaning, Smii7y rolled his eyes.
“Good morning…”
Smii7y jumped slightly, snapping his head to the side.
“Oh, John,” Smii7y mumbled.
John stared at him silently. “I’ll… go tell Pezzy you’re awake.” His voice was cold, all emotions restrained and held back. It hurt Smii7y’s soul a tiny bit. Getting up, the other walked out of the room before walking back in with Pezzy.
“Smii7y,” Pezzy whispered. “For fuck’s sake. You—… Oh my lord… You are so fucking lucky you’re hospitalized right now because otherwise I would slap you so fucking hard.” Pezzy sighed. “We saw the note, by the way.”
“Oh.” Smii7y didn’t have the energy to defend himself and swear that it was some random made-up mushy shit that he wrote down for fun and entertainment instead of it being his fucking suicide note. “Awesome,” he replied sarcastically. Tearing his eyes away form the others, he looked up at the ceiling.
“You had a gun with five fucking bullets ready in it,” Pezzy stated, the frown audible in his words. John was staying silent.
Smii7y almost rolled his eyes. “Yeah, go on, tell me about my own suicide attempt, as if you know more.” He scrunched his face, cringing.
John finally chimed in, “Smii7y, if you keep pushing people away, they’re not gonna frickin’ stay! You can’t keep treating everyone like crap because they’re just gonna leave!”
“Maybe I want you to leave!” Smii7y snapped back, snarling at John. “Maybe I want you to just fuck off and leave me alone! Ever thought about that?”
John was quiet for a bit but eventually scoffed and walked off, slamming the door. Smii7y wasn’t too bothered because he knew John would come back. He always came back.
Pezzy crossed his arms. “Can’t you try be nice for once?”
Smii7y almost smiled. “Ever heard of the scorpion and the frog?”
“What?” The other was staring at him like he was fucking losing it, insane; and maybe he was.
“‘Tis in my nature,” Smii7y announced dramatically.
Pezzy eyed him. “Smii7y, you just planned to fucking kill yourself.”
Smii7y glanced at him. “Well, I’m alive right now, so does it even matter?” He watched Pezzy pinch the bridge of his nose.
“God, you don’t even know how much convincing and begging I had to do to get you out of them sending you to rehab, God knows what happened last time I tried that.” Smii7y huffed simply. “What I couldn’t get you out of was therapy, which I think is a great fucking idea. It’s daily, and I’m making sure you’re going.”
Smii7y hummed. “How are you going to do that if I live in a hotel? I’ll just tell you I’m going, and then not.”
The other was quiet for a bit. “You’re coming back to the house. The hotel thing evidently didn’t work out,” Pezzy snapped out. “But just try not to talk to the others and upset them, okay?”
Smii7y shrugged, not promising anything.
“Your therapy starts tomorrow. It’ll be held here, just go to the receptionist and tell them your name.”
Biting back a smirk, Smii7y asked, “Oh? I’ll be here alone?”
“No.” Smii7y tsk-ed. Pezzy explained, “I’ll be coming with you to make sure you actually do it. I can’t trust you to do it yourself.”
A doctor walked into the room. Perking up, Pezzy awkwardly shuffled out, giving them some privacy. Smii7y bit his lip, letting out a much needed sigh. The doctor stared at him for a while before clearing her throat. “Mr. Smith, I do hope that your friend explained a bit of what will happen next, yes?” she asked, not smiling, but not exactly frowning.
“Mhm, a bit.”
She nodded. “We’ll put you into our therapy curriculum and, based on the results that arise from that, see what we can do to help.” She glanced down at her clipboard. “I’ve been made aware that you commonly use substances, am I correct?”
Smii7y scoffed quietly. “Yeah.”
“Alright.” She scribbled something down on her clipboard briefly. “Do you know why you passed out?”
Smii7y thought for a moment, genuinely trying to figure it out. “Liver failure? Malnutrition?”
“Malnutrition. Your body didn’t have enough energy. Do you often have trouble eating? Is this a common occurrence or a one-time thing?”
“No. No, it’s nothing like that. I just didn’t eat because I was planning to—…” He inhaled sharply. “I was planning… to… uhm, well…”
“To end your life?” she suggested.
“Y-Yeah.” It felt different saying it to an actual doctor, rather than someone like Pezzy or John. With his roommates, it just felt like another joke or stupid lie. With a doctor, everything instantly turned serious; there was no place for jokes or lies. “Yeah. To… do… that.”
Eyeing him curiously, she wrote something else down. He watched the pen glide across the paper with silent frustration and anxiety.
She looked up. “Return back to this hospital at 3PM tomorrow for your first session. I’m sure that you’ll benefit from this.” Handing him a leaflet with some information, she smiled warmly. “I’ll let you go now. Have a great day!”
He slowly nodded before standing up. His body felt slightly tired, but definitely a lot more energized than before he passed out. Leaving the room, he didn’t return her smile. In the waiting room, Pezzy and John were talking a bit. Smii7y stared at them, glancing behind him once before approaching them. “Uhm, hey?”
They both glanced at him. Pezzy muttered, “Oh, hello…” John didn’t bother with a greeting. “Come on. Let’s just… go.”
The car ride home was awkward, to say the least. It was mostly spent in silence. Luckily, it was over pretty fast—or maybe it was just because Smii7y kept zoning out non-stop.
Now, they were at the house. Smii7y had immediately rushed to his bedroom. It was just as he had left it. He wasn’t too surprised that the others had been too repulsed to even step foot inside this hellhole. His eyes darted over to the trashcan. There was a thought poking at him. He grabbed a few things, carelessly throwing them on the ground before he found what he was looking for: two pieces of a torn up drawing. His heart ached, ripping sharp pain through his chest. He took a steady breath to calm himself.
I’m here for you. What a dumb thing to say.
Smii7y swallowed nervously, carefully setting the drawings on the ground near his bed. He sighed, letting his body relax slightly. Sitting down on his bed, he rolled up his sleeves. The doctors must have treated his fresh cuts due to the bandages and bandaids covering them. He collapsed backwards on the mattress. He blinked up at the ceiling blankly, lost in thought.
He was surprised that John hadn’t come crawling back yet. Usually, John would come pestering him again after a day or two. After his own stunt, Smii7y had expected the other to be all over him, instead of being annoyed at him. He shrugged, predicting that John would come to talk to him any moment now.
For the whole rest of that day, John didn’t speak to him and kept making excuses that he was busy whenever they ran into each other, but Smii7y knew damn well that he wasn’t. The same thing happened next morning. He had tried waiting for the other to approach him instead, but John hadn’t. Smii7y decided that he was going to make the first move--since it was already the afternoon and nearing 3PM--because he was going to make no progress just waiting for John to knock at his door and forgive him.
Smii7y took a step into John’s studio, glancing around at all the unique, creative decorating. He hadn’t ever truly took the time to appreciate the effort John must have put in to design every little aspect of his room. Anyway, that wasn’t what he was here for, so it didn’t matter.
“Yo, John?” He glanced around before finally noticing John in the corner of his room, putting away a blank canvas. “Ah, there you are.”
John stared at him. “What, Smii7y?”
Smii7y eyed him, waiting. Eventually, when the other didn’t say anything, Smii7y groaned. “Okay, fine, I’m sorry for making you cry. Happy?” All he got in return was silence, slightly worrying him. “John—…”
“Smii7y, I… don’t think I’m ready to forgive you.”
He almost laughed. “Fuck you mean?!” Smii7y squeaked out. “I made you cry once! God forbid I fuck up once!” he mocked sarcastically, scoffing.
“This isn’t just about that, Smii7y.” John’s voice was quiet, calm and collected, unlike Smii7y’s. “You’ve done… so many things to me…”
“Oh, yeah? Name one, other than the crying thing.”
“You have stolen a lot of things from me—tape, paint, pens, paper. You have always insulted me at every given opportunity. You always tease me about smoking and keep trying to convince me to get into it, even after I expressed how uncomfortable that made me feel. You never take into account how you make me feel with the things you do or say. You barely show that you’re grateful for the patience I have with you because I know you’re struggling. You don’t appreciate the things I do for you—from little things such as little doodles, to the big things such as literally letting you sob your heart out on my shoulder. Sometimes, I feel like you don’t see me as a person with thoughts and feelings, but as an inanimate object…”
Smii7y was speechless, gawking at John. “Oh, come on—…”
“Smii7y… As much as I really do want to help you, I can’t do that if it negatively impacts myself. I… can’t let you just use me as a vent dump and punching bag.”
“Since when did you grow balls?” Smii7y joked.
“Since I realized that I’m human too, and deserve to have friends who actually… like me.”
Smii7y bit his tongue. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” he mumbled, rolling his eyes.
“Nothing. I want you to… leave me alone. At least until you learn how to treat people right.” John didn’t spare him a glance, keeping himself turned to the wall.
“John… Dude, I’m sorry.” Smii7y was dazed, his heart pounding.
“You saying that isn’t going to change anything, Smii7y. Could you please leave my studio?”
Smii7y was about to argue, yell out a snarky comment, but he couldn’t. “But… I thought…” He sniffed. Smii7y was actually crying? John was actually making Smii7y cry? His eyes were stinging and his throat was raw. He was shaking, unable to respond with anything else.
“Goodbye, Smii-seven-y.”
Smii7y hated his name being said like that, despised it. John knew that, better than everyone.
He couldn’t believe that John had just pulled the fucking ‘Kryoz’ card on him. He also couldn’t believe how hard it made his stomach drop, how it made twice the amount of tears stream down his face, how it made him want to curl up into a tight ball and die. Smii7y swore he could have passed out on the spot. Instead, he left the room in silence and returned to his own, immediately sulking on the ground.
He sighed loudly. His mind kept racing, blaming himself for spinning that goddamn drum with just the right strength to let him fucking live. Smii7y choked on a soft sob. He hadn’t expected John to not accept his apology. John had always come back, always. But… he saw his point. Smii7y had been so so fucking shitty towards him. He really hadn’t considered the other’s feelings much. Smii7y wiped his nose on his hoodie sleeve.
His eyes flickered over to the drawing on the ground. He bit his lip hard, undoubtedly leaving a faint scar in the very least. Scurrying across his room, he picked up a roll of tape, which had previously belonged to John, on his desk and ripped off a piece. He taped the two ripped parts of the drawing together, connecting them as best as he could. Smii7y eyed it. He couldn’t stop thinking about it.
John knew he wasn’t, at heart, a shitty person. So why did he leave him? Smii7y was frustrated and so tired. He laid the drawing on his bed lazily and leaned against his wall, groaning. He’d have to find some way to get John to forgive him.
There was a knock at his door.
Smii7y snickered. He knew John would appear sooner or later. Opening the door, he was about to chirp out a sassy remark, but Pezzy stared at him instead. “Hey. It’s half past two, so we should get going.”
Smii7y frowned. “Oh. Right…” He followed Pezzy outside to the car. They drove to the hospital quietly.
Smii7y didn’t know what to expect, but he was nervous. His hands couldn’t keep still and his leg was bouncing. He was shaking and his shoulders were tense. He took a sharp breath, assuring himself that it would be fine. They eventually pulled over, checked in, and were now waiting in the waiting room. Smii7y hadn’t spoken a word, ignoring every single sentence that came out of Pezzy’s mouth.
“Mr. Smith?”
Fuck his life. He was silently wishing that, somehow, the doctors would forget about him, but evidently not. Pezzy got up before him and had to force him up onto his feet. Scoffing, he slowly walked behind him. When they reached the office, Pezzy said his quick goodbyes and left, telling him to text him when it was over.
Uncomfortable, Smii7y was sitting on the chair, glaring down at the ground fiercely. The therapist—a young man who he could only describe as overjoyed and incredibly flamboyant—finished up on his computer before turning towards him.
“Hello, Mr. Smith, I’m Dr. Antol, but you can just call me Oliver.” He smiled warmly.
Smii7y glanced up. “Hello, Dr. Antol.”
Dr. Antol blinked at him before humming. “Real quick, before we talk about anything, is there anything you would prefer to be called over Mr. Smith?” He kept his voice low and calm, relaxed.
“Just… Smii7y’s fine.”
“In that case, hello, Smii7y!” he chirped out. “How are you feeling today?”
“Like shit.” Smii7y figured there wasn’t any point in lying, at least not yet.
The other nodded. “I appreciate your honesty. We all have shitty days sometimes.” He chuckled light-heartedly.
Smii7y stayed silent.
“One of your friends accompanied you here, didn’t he? What’s his name?”
“Pezzy…”
“Pezzy,” Dr. Antol repeated. “When did you two meet? It seems like you guys are close.”
“Like, a few years ago… or something. We’re not that close—he’s like that with everyone. He’s basically the goddamn mother of the house.” It was easy to talk to a stranger about his friends. It was almost relieving, in a way, like he was getting it off his chest.
“Yeah?” Dr. Antol asked. “How so?”
Smii7y explained. He explained all of Pezzy’s habits, his personality, everything. The therapist listened, occasionally nodding along and adding a comment or too. After he was done with his description, the other asked, “Do you like him? What are your thoughts on him?”
“He’s fine… I guess…”
“Does it get a bit irritating with him being all motherly?” he suggested, chuckling under his breath. “I can imagine it does.”
Smii7y shrugged.
“Can you tell me more about your other roommates?”
“Well, there’s Pezzy, John, Droid, Grizzy, and Matt.”
“Go on, tell me a bit about John, if you want.” The therapist grinned widely, leaning into the conversation as if he was actually intrigued.
“He’s… nice.” Smii7y looked down at the ground. “He’s normally really patient and caring and just sweet…” Smii7y paused momentarily. “Yeah, he’s cool… I guess. I think I’d probably consider him my best-friend, kind of.” Smii7y thought about John and he couldn’t help how his lips twitched upwards. He wished that everything could just go back to normal, with John begging him to watch something with him, or drawing shit for him.
“He sounds really great! What else is he like?”
“He’s… a good person.” Smii7y sighed. “He just seems to want everyone to be satisfied, I appreciate that… Although, he is pretty shy for the most part. He draws and paints a lot. It’s always so interesting to see what he can conjure up next. Like, that man could be given some paint, a blank canvas, and make something sick as fuck.” His cheeks heated up slightly. “He’s a bit of a nerd, but that’s almost cu—… almost entertaining. He also sews a lot, so most of the shit he wears has been modified at least a bit. He adds like flowers, or just shapes to his clothes. It’s neat.” Smii7y hadn’t even realized he had been rambling until he stopped talking.
Dr. Antol didn’t seem annoyed though, he seemed happy. “You really like John, don’t you? That’s amazing. It’s always great having someone who’ll be there no matter what.”
Smii7y didn’t respond. He frowned slightly.
Noticing this, Dr. Antol eyed him. “Did something happen? With him?” he asked slowly.
Smii7y tore his eyes away, scoffing. “No.”
They were both silent for a bit.
“Maybe,” Smii7y mumbled.
“What happened?”
“He—… I… was a dickhead to him.” Smii7y swallowed anxiously. He felt sick and nauseous. Fuck, he hated this so much. He preferred describing his roommates and being able to roast them as much as he wanted. He didn’t want to talk about his fucking problems, even if that was the whole point of therapy. “I treated him like shit, and he grew balls and stood up for himself… and that’s valid, but now he fucking despises me, which sucks.”
“I see,” Dr. Antol whispered. “Have you tried apologizing?”
“Yeah, but the asshole didn’t accept it! Well, not asshole. He’s not an asshole… I’m just frustrated.” Smii7y felt like he was going to pass out from how much his body was overheating from stress. “He—… I just… don’t know what to do… I don’t know how I should… talk… to him… or what I should even say!”
“Would you like a cup of water?”
Smii7y felt like he was suffocating. “Y-Yeah… Okay… fine.” His whole body was trembling. He got passed some water and immediately started downing it.
The therapist talked as he drank it, “You should give him a bit of space and time. You could try slowly doing small things for him, like cleaning his room, holding a door open for him, cooking for him, anything!”
Smii7y didn’t even clean his own room, he didn’t know how to cook either. He sighed when he finished his water. He was so fucked.
“It can take a lot of time for people to forgive others, but something that will speed it up is showing that you care and showing that you aren’t just doing nice things to them for their forgiveness, but for them.” Dr. Antol smiled. “I can tell you really care about John. So, instead of fishing for his forgiveness, give him space, and make him feel welcome in your presence.”
Smii7y interrupted, “I thought this was supposed to be about my alcoholism, or something, not about my relationships.”
Dr. Antol hummed. “It can be about anything you like. Not everything can be covered in a single one-hour session. If something is bothering you, like your disagreement with John, then we’ll focus on that. But, are you suggesting that you want to talk about your substance use?”
“No,” Smii7y answered instantly.
“Exactly, I’ll start by aiding you with smaller problems before addressing any bigger ones. This is for your comfort. My office should always be a safe space, and not a place you dread visiting everyday.”
Smii7y nodded carefully. He was still nervous as fuck, but he felt slightly more comfortable than when he first arrived. “Okay… thank you.”
***
Smii7y’s hand was aching a bit from how fast he was writing, but he didn’t really care. He was sitting at his desk, scribbling hastily on a piece of paper. He made sure his handwriting was at least a tiny bit legible. Sighing, he finished and stared, scanning each and every word, occasionally crossing something out and replacing it. After he was satisfied, he inhaled shakily. John was downstairs, cooking something while Grizzy bothered and pestered him, probably explaining something weird to him, like medieval torture mechanisms—Smii7y had been a victim of that yap session before.
Sneaking to John’s studio's door, he crouched down and slid the note underneath it, making sure it was completely hidden from this side so nobody, like Droid, would get nosy and try to read it. Standing up, he nervously hurried back to his room, slamming the door behind him. He sighed out in relief of that being done. He was nervous of what John would think, but it was too late now.
All he had to do was wait.