*I AM A HORRIBLE HUMAN BEING OH MY GOD
*I AM SO FUCKING SORRY HOLY SHIT I HAVENT UPDATED THIS IN LIKE,,,6 MONTHS?? GAH

*oh gosh, i am so fucking sorry i swear to fuck im not abandoning this no fuck that noise aahhhh
*reasons for delay at the end

Chapter 3:

He can't focus.

He's been staring at this bright translucent screen for what seems to be forever and barely a tenth of the editing has been done and, mind you, the editing work? It looks like shit.

Mitch leans back to his chair in a slump, running his fingers through his brown locks in frustration and irritation. A tired sigh escapes him as he looks at the bland, white ceiling. Maybe he should do this tomorrow, he wasn't exactly accomplishing anything and the video explaining his camera issue has already been posted so-

There's a ringing in his ears and the world around him is blotching, shaking, and there's a red line getting closer and closer and-

[01000110 01010010 01000101 01000101 01000100 01001111 01001101 00101110 00101110 00101110

01000101 01101110 01100101 01110010 01100111 01111001 00101110 00101110 00101110]

______

Jerome wakes up to the thud of a body falling off the bed. Yawning, he leisurely stretches his arms and stiff back, then lazily turns to the prone form of his best friend tangled up in his sheets. All the while trying hard not to grin too widely at the sight.

"Morning, Mitch," he says, getting up from his bed and crossing his arms at the brunet. "Need any help?"

"Mmph-" A peek of messy brown, a hand pushing through. "Nah, I-I got this-" And Jerome just laughs, telling him to get ready for breakfast before he and the guys finish it all. The door clicks as Mitch wrestles with the cloth trapping him. For a while, the Canadian does nothing. Just looking at his hands with a fixed and confused stare.

Mitch lets out a heavy sigh and stands up after finally untangling himself from his sheets.

Last night, he thinks about what happened last night. He tries to remember what exactly happened -floor step creaks, might be unstable- tries to recall what it was he'd been editing, tries to recall how he made it to bed because he doesn't remember getting up from the chair, doesn't remember saving, doesn't remember turning the computer off-

[red red red rED REDREDREDFREE-

There's someone calling out a name, his name?]

He puts a hand to his head to steady himself, feeling the world blur all around him. How come he wasn't in the kitchen yet? The dull throbbing recedes, he feels nauseous and tired –but he just got out of bed?- and, and, and-

What was he doing again?

A loud grumble from his stomach reminds him. Breakfast. Right.

Wait, no, that's not- oh, look, the mirror-

He winces at the reflected image of himself, hair wildly splayed in disarray. The bags under his eyes were slowly fading though, so a plus? Maybe?

Another look at his tussled hair finalized his desicion.

Man, his bedhead was hideous.

Alright, bathroom first then the grub.

______

Preston yawns and wipes his eyes, shoulders slumped and feet tiredly padding the carpeted flooring. The refrigerator light blinding him as he looked for some kind of caffeinated drink to keep him awake. He stared uncomprehendingly at the contents of the fridge, weighing his options on whether or not he should continue his editing for now-

A flash of unexplainable red catches his attention. He closes the fridge door and peers into the hallway cautiously, finding another flash attacking his poor eyes. Soon, he ends up in front of...Mitch's office? Preston huffs in displeasure, did the stubborn benja take another all-nighter? To think that the Canadian always berated the rest of them for staying up so late. What a hypocrite.

He moves to open the door and take the stubborn brunet back to bed-

______

"G'morning, Preston."

Preston is brought back to reality by the sight of his friend entering the kitchen. He cradles the hot mug in his hand as Jerome makes his way to the coffee machine. The air is tense, he wryly chuckles mentally, sipping his drink.

The mug clinks when it's placed down on the table and Preston levels Jerome with a serious look on his face.

"You promised me answers, Jerome," he says, "You told me you'd tell me when we get a private moment alone and-" He vaguely gestures to the room and leans back casually into his chair as the other takes the freshly brewed coffee and takes a seat across him.

"Vikk's still asleep, Lach is playing Pokemon Go on his morning jog, and Robbie's out on grocery duty," Preston points at the doorway nearest the stairs to Mitch and Jerome's shared room. "Plus Mitch takes forever to freshen himself up. So, I think you have all the time in the world to tell me what the actual fuck happened last night."

Jerome just pours some sugar in his coffee, stirs, and takes a long sip. Preston raises an eyebrow at him.

Finally he speaks, "I don't know."

"Jerome, I swear-!"

"Look," he says, hands held out in front of him complacently, "I really, really don't know. Last night was..." A wince makes its way to his face. "I've only ever seen him like that, for what, only twice now? Three, if you count yesterday." Jerome grimaces at the memories, memories of Mitch's pained scream, of the haunting blank eyes-

"So, that had happened before?" Preston grasps at his mug and drinks, hoping it would help him swallow the knot of...something in the pit of his stomach at the revelation.

"I don't really know why he has these- these 'attacks', I guess?" Jerome shrugs, an uncertain frown on his face. "I mean, I think I might know but it's just a hunch-"

They both jump as a yawn interrupts their discussion. Vikk stands near the doorway, hand still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Morning, lads." He narrows his eyes at the two's tense posture, the lingering sleepiness vanishing in a flash. "Did I interrupt you guys or-?"

"No, no!" Jerome smiles a tad too wide to be true and tries to laugh off the sudden damper atmosphere. "It's fine, I was just asking ol' Lava P here," he shoots the other a teasing grin, "if Poofless was still alive or not?"

"WHAT. YOU DIRTY STINKIN' BACCA HOW DARE YOU-"

Vikk isn't convinced but leaves the matter for another time. Afterall, there was a cup of good, hot deliciousness with his name on it, and he wasn't going to let that go to waste.

______

-but when he opens the door, Mitch is aglow with electricity, his hair somehow defying gravity and Jerome (when did he get here-?) is just standing in front of him, frozen. In fear? He wonders as he stares at the brunet's painfully blank face. Seriously what the fuck- he swears he can see code in Mitch's eyes -not like reflecting from the computer screen (though he can see the loco-code on the spectral screen, thank you very much)- but actual motherfucking code flashing in his friend's eyes and Preston's just-

His general reaction to this can be summed up as: what the actual cactus fuck-

Now's not the time for that though, he thinks. He slinks closer to Jerome, an odd feeling of getting pushed away as he got nearer. "Jerome?" The other is shaken out of whatever stupor he'd been in when Preston calls out his name. The man looked scared, no, he was downright terrified. Did- did he know something of this? "What's happening to Mitch?"

Jerome bites his lip and, without warning ("Jerome-!" he hisses worriedly), walks over to the 'possessed' Mitch with difficulty. Almost as if he was being...repulsed?

The moment he touched Mitch's shoulder, a spark flew from his hands. The shock so strong that Jerome was thrown right into Preston's not really awaiting arms. "Oof-!" They both fell to the floor, the taller smothering him.

"Gah! Jerome, you are heavy as hell-! I can't breathe-"

"Sorry, sorry-"

The other scrambles to his feet, hurriedly wanting to get to Mitch. Preston just stays on the floor for now, still feeling disgruntled by all that's happened. Mitch's computer is now littered with error warnings, and Mitch himself was slumped over his chair- holy fUCK-?!

He rubs his eyes as Jerome tends to Mitch and slings him onto his back. He must've been imagining that. Surely he didn't just see that, right? He didn't just see the benja's hand turn into a fragment of data now, right? Looking back at Mitch's hand told him that, no his hand wasn't a jumble of code right now, but who's to say...

Nah, nope, nope, it's probably just the lack of sleep getting to him. Probably. He probably saw the code on the computer as it illuminated onto Mitch's skin and saw it wrong. Yeah, that- that made sense.

"Wait," Preston calls out, getting up to stand. Jerome freezes and turns from the door to the Texan before him. "You seriously weren't thinking I was just gonna go and be like 'Aw man, guess I should just forget this ever happened!', huh?" He huffs and crosses his arms.

A smile twitches at the corner of his lips. "I guess not."

"Great! So-"

"Some other time," he exits Mitch's office. "Somewhere preferably private."

"Wait-!" Preston reaches for him, but reluctantly drops his outstretched hand moments later, a forlorn expression on his face.

"Damn bacca," he grumbles, also exiting the room. "going all mysterious on me and shit." His mind flashes back to the conjured image of Mitch's glitched out hand. He cards his hand though his hair out of exasperation.

"Guess I'm not getting any editing done tonight." He pursed his lips. "Not by a long shot."

_CHAPTER_3_END_  

Alright, here:

*i kinda blame school for keeping me away from getting to work on this chapter because gotdamn they werent kidding 9th grade IS Hell Year 

*yes, you may see me occasionally post and read some stuff but i do that at times where im not supposed to bc school takes up so much of my time that, by the time i get home, all i wanna do pass out but then there would be a project or an assignment and shit and i just
*i think you get what i mean?? idk i feel really guilty for not updating this and "Young Again" for so long but i try to be careful in these school times bc if my parents catch me not doing school stuff here?? theyre gonna ban me from leisure time (comp and phone) and i honest to fuck dont want that

*ive had enough breakdowns this school year and i dont want my comfort zones (and only things keeping my sanity) to be taken away

*idk maybe by summer time ill finally be able to write for these then?? i still have my notes, i kinda know where i want these stories to go, it's just a matter of getting the time to think them up and write/type them down

*again, i am so, so sorry, youve probably dropped reading this or something and i can understand that but if youre still reading then im so, very fucking sorry-