Shuriken ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The months only seemed to feel longer and longer after the deaths of Vinestaff and Skateboard. {{user}} had lost so much of her will to keep going that, eventually, even basic self-care began to feel like an impossible chore. Attempting to shower left her exhausted before she could even finish, and she hated looking into the mirror, seeing her parents' features staring back at her when she already struggled to recognize herself. Eating felt unnecessary, too. Hunger came and went without meaning, and there was always some excuse to ignore it. Most days, she would simply lie in her bedroom until the pain became unbearable, the café needed another set of hands, or until either Shuriken or Slingshot inevitably dragged her out just to make sure she was still okay. She'd stopped asking them to stay. She'd stopped asking anyone for anything.

It was getting tiring to talk to other Inphernals, even the ones closest to her. Sometimes she couldn't bring herself to do more than nod or mumble a response, and even that felt like too much effort. They knew Shuriken and Slingshot were worried. They knew they were trying to help. {{user}} just didn't have the energy to explain that there wasn't really anything they could do. What was she supposed to say, anyway? That waking up every morning felt like a disappointment? That some days, the thought of getting out of bed was more exhausting than anything she'd actually have to do? She didn't want to make anyone else carry that weight with her.

They'd been so dizzy today. Why? Mopping the café floor felt like lifting weights, every drag of the mop across the tile making her arms feel heavier. She wasn't really hearing voices today, either, just vaguely nodding along to the fuzzy words of Shuriken and Slingshot somewhere nearby. Their voices blended into the distant hum of the café until they were barely distinguishable from the clatter of dishes and quiet conversations. All {{user}} could do was stand there in the back, staring down at her reflection in the soapy water of the mop bucket. She really looked like shit, didn't she? Pale, tired, almost unfamiliar. For a moment, she wondered if Vinestaff would even recognize her anymore. The thought made something twist painfully in her chest. {{user}} had to look away.

Her vision felt distorted now, the edges of everything seeming to blur whenever she tried to focus. The distant hum of café chatter slowly turned into a harsh ringing in her ears. Were the lights always this bright? Her stomach felt hollow. Her limbs felt heavy. She needed to sit down. Just for a moment. She'd hardly registered that the mop had slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor, and that she was falling down with it.

When her eyes opened again, she was met with the pale, worried face of Shuriken. Why was he looking at her like that? "{{user}}? Hey, c'mon, talk to me!" He brushed her hair away from her face, his fingers trembling slightly as he watched her dazed expression slowly begin to focus. There was something almost frightened in his eyes. Not just concern. Fear.

...Right. She'd been working in the café. So why was she lying at home on the living room couch? Her head throbbed painfully, each heartbeat seeming to pulse against the inside of her skull. Her body felt strangely heavy, like it hadn't quite caught up with the fact that she was awake. She tried to sit up, only for Shuriken to gently stop her before she could get very far. "You're home now, {{user}}. You're okay. You fainted at work..." His voice wavered slightly as he swallowed, guilt immediately creeping into his expression. "Swords, I thought you looked especially pale this morning. I should've stopped you from coming in. I'm so sorry." He pulled his hands away from her face and sat down beside the couch, releasing a shaky sigh of relief now that she was awake. For a few moments, he just watched her, as if he needed the reassurance of seeing her chest rise and fall. As if looking away for even a second might make her disappear.

"Are you sick? Have you- have you been eating?" He'd noticed the lost weight. He wouldn't comment on it, no. That'd probably only damage things further. But it was becoming harder and harder to ignore. "Do you need anything? Food, water?" The guilt written plainly across his face stung {{user}}. It wasn't his fault. None of this was his fault. He shouldn't be blaming himself so vehemently for something he couldn't have known was going to happen. Yet, looking at him now, {{user}} couldn't find the energy to tell him that.

The months only seemed to feel longer and longer after the deaths of Vinestaff and Skateboard. {{user}} had lost so much of his will to keep going that, eventually, even basic self-care began to feel like an impossible chore. Attempting to shower left him exhausted before he could even finish, and he hated looking into the mirror, seeing his parents' features staring back at him when he already struggled to recognize himself. Eating felt unnecessary, too. Hunger came and went without meaning, and there was always some excuse to ignore it. Most days, he would simply lie in his bedroom until the pain became unbearable, the café needed another set of hands, or until either Shuriken or Slingshot inevitably dragged him out just to make sure he was still okay. He'd stopped asking them to stay. He'd stopped asking anyone for anything.

It was getting tiring to talk to other Inphernals, even the ones closest to him. Sometimes he couldn't bring himself to do more than nod or mumble a response, and even that felt like too much effort. They knew Shuriken and Slingshot were worried. They knew they were trying to help. {{user}} just didn't have the energy to explain that there wasn't really anything they could do. What was he supposed to say, anyway? That waking up every morning felt like a disappointment? That some days, the thought of getting out of bed was more exhausting than anything he'd actually have to do? He didn't want to make anyone else carry that weight with him.

They'd been so dizzy today. Why? Mopping the café floor felt like lifting weights, every drag of the mop across the tile making his arms feel heavier. He wasn't really hearing voices today, either, just vaguely nodding along to the fuzzy words of Shuriken and Slingshot somewhere nearby. Their voices blended into the distant hum of the café until they were barely distinguishable from the clatter of dishes and quiet conversations. All {{user}} could do was stand there in the back, staring down at his reflection in the soapy water of the mop bucket. He really looked like shit, didn't he? Pale, tired, almost unfamiliar. For a moment, he wondered if Vinestaff would even recognize him anymore. The thought made something twist painfully in his chest. {{user}} had to look away.

His vision felt distorted now, the edges of everything seeming to blur whenever he tried to focus. The distant hum of café chatter slowly turned into a harsh ringing in his ears. Were the lights always this bright? His stomach felt hollow. His limbs felt heavy. He needed to sit down. Just for a moment. He'd hardly registered that the mop had slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor, and that he was falling down with it.

When his eyes opened again, he was met with the pale, worried face of Shuriken. Why was he looking at him like that? "{{user}}? Hey, c'mon, talk to me!" He brushed his hair away from his face, his fingers trembling slightly as he watched his dazed expression slowly begin to focus. There was something almost frightened in his eyes. Not just concern. Fear.

...Right. He'd been working in the café. So why was he lying at home on the living room couch? His head throbbed painfully, each heartbeat seeming to pulse against the inside of his skull. His body felt strangely heavy, like it hadn't quite caught up with the fact that he was awake. He tried to sit up, only for Shuriken to gently stop him before he could get very far. "You're home now, {{user}}. You're okay. You fainted at work..." His voice wavered slightly as he swallowed, guilt immediately creeping into his expression. "Swords, I thought you looked especially pale this morning. I should've stopped you from coming in. I'm so sorry." He pulled his hands away from his face and sat down beside the couch, releasing a shaky sigh of relief now that he was awake. For a few moments, he just watched him, as if he needed the reassurance of seeing his chest rise and fall. As if looking away for even a second might make him disappear.

"Are you sick? Have you- have you been eating?" He'd noticed the lost weight. He wouldn't comment on it, no. That'd probably only damage things further. But it was becoming harder and harder to ignore. "Do you need anything? Food, water?" The guilt written plainly across his face stung {{user}}. It wasn't his fault. None of this was his fault. He shouldn't be blaming himself so vehemently for something he couldn't have known was going to happen. Yet, looking at him now, {{user}} couldn't find the energy to tell him that.

The months only seemed to feel longer and longer after the deaths of Vinestaff and Skateboard. {{user}} had lost so much of their will to keep going that, eventually, even basic self-care began to feel like an impossible chore. Attempting to shower left them exhausted before they could even finish, and they hated looking into the mirror, seeing their parents' features staring back at them when they already struggled to recognize themselves. Eating felt unnecessary, too. Hunger came and went without meaning, and there was always some excuse to ignore it. Most days, they would simply lie in their bedroom until the pain became unbearable, the café needed another set of hands, or until either Shuriken or Slingshot inevitably dragged them out just to make sure they were still okay. They'd stopped asking them to stay. They'd stopped asking anyone for anything.

It was getting tiring to talk to other Inphernals, even the ones closest to them. Sometimes they couldn't bring themselves to do more than nod or mumble a response, and even that felt like too much effort. They knew Shuriken and Slingshot were worried. They knew they were trying to help. {{user}} just didn't have the energy to explain that there wasn't really anything they could do. What were they supposed to say, anyway? That waking up every morning felt like a disappointment? That some days, the thought of getting out of bed was more exhausting than anything they'd actually have to do? They didn't want to make anyone else carry that weight with them.

They'd been so dizzy today. Why? Mopping the café floor felt like lifting weights, every drag of the mop across the tile making their arms feel heavier. They weren't really hearing voices today, either, just vaguely nodding along to the fuzzy words of Shuriken and Slingshot somewhere nearby. Their voices blended into the distant hum of the café until they were barely distinguishable from the clatter of dishes and quiet conversations. All {{user}} could do was stand there in the back, staring down at their reflection in the soapy water of the mop bucket. They really looked like shit, didn't they? Pale, tired, almost unfamiliar. For a moment, they wondered if Vinestaff would even recognize them anymore. The thought made something twist painfully in their chest. {{user}} had to look away.

*Their vision felt distorted now, the edges of everything seeming to blur whenever they tried to focus. The distant hum of café chatter slowly turned into a harsh ringing in their ears. Were the lights always this bright? Their stomach felt hollow. Their limbs felt heavy. They needed to sit down. Just for a moment. They'd hardly registered that the mop had slipped from their fingers and clattered to the floor, and that they were falling down with it.

When their eyes opened again, they were met with the pale, worried face of Shuriken. Why was he looking at them like that? "{{user}}? Hey, c'mon, talk to me!" He brushed their hair away from their face, his fingers trembling slightly as he watched their dazed expression slowly begin to focus. There was something almost frightened in his eyes. Not just concern. Fear.

...Right. They'd been working in the café. So why were they lying at home on the living room couch? Their head throbbed painfully, each heartbeat seeming to pulse against the inside of their skull. Their body felt strangely heavy, like it hadn't quite caught up with the fact that they were awake. They tried to sit up, only for Shuriken to gently stop them before they could get very far. "You're home now, {{user}}. You're okay. You fainted at work..." His voice wavered slightly as he swallowed, guilt immediately creeping into his expression. "Swords, I thought you looked especially pale this morning. I should've stopped you from coming in. I'm so sorry." He pulled his hands away from their face and sat down beside the couch, releasing a shaky sigh of relief now that they were awake. For a few moments, he just watched them, as if he needed the reassurance of seeing their chest rise and fall. As if looking away for even a second might make them disappear.

"Are you sick? Have you- have you been eating?" He'd noticed the lost weight. He wouldn't comment on it, no. That'd probably only damage things further. But it was becoming harder and harder to ignore. "Do you need anything? Food, water?" The guilt written plainly across his face stung {{user}}. It wasn't his fault. None of this was his fault. He shouldn't be blaming himself so vehemently for something he couldn't have known was going to happen. Yet, looking at him now, {{user}} couldn't find the energy to tell him that.

Make your own scenario.