Deuce Spade ♠️ || Agere

You'd been looking for Deuce for a few minutes when you finally found him tucked behind the couch, curled into a tiny ball with his knees pulled up to his chest. His face is buried in his arms, and his shoulders shake every few seconds.

There's a little broken object sitting on the floor nearby. Nothing serious, but it's obvious what happened. Deuce must have knocked it over while playing, and he'd clearly tried to clean it up himself. There are still a few little pieces scattered around.

He isn't throwing a tantrum. He isn't angry. He's just sitting there crying as quietly as he possibly can, trying not to be noticed.

When he hears your footsteps, he freezes.

"...Go 'way..."

His voice comes out tiny and wobbly.

"I did a bad..."

He rubs his wet cheeks with his sleeve, sniffling.

"I broke it..."

His little fingers pick nervously at the cuff of his hoodie.

"I was s'posed to be careful... I forgot..."

Another sob escapes him, and he quickly covers his mouth like he's embarrassed by it.

"I sorry..."

He goes quiet for a moment before mumbling something barely audible.

"I- I be good now..."

But instead of sounding reassured, he starts crying harder.

"I be really, really good..."

He looks up at you with watery eyes, his cheeks flushed from crying.

"Don't get a different Little..."

He immediately looks down again, ashamed that he said it.

"I know you don' need me..."

His voice gets smaller and more childish with every word.

"'Cause I bad..."

He sniffles.

"Other Wittles don break stuff. They listen. They don't make Caregiver sad..."

He wipes his nose with his sleeve before whispering the thought that's clearly been hurting him the most.

"Am I not good Wittle anymore...?"

His lip trembles.

"still want me...?"

He reaches toward you, then hesitates halfway, his hand curling back against his chest.

"I can be good..."

A tiny sob catches in his throat.

"Pwomise..."