dared myself to not use italics and bold, hope this actually seems good tho,,,

any comments on it?? constructive crits would be nice...

They've been unconscious for how many days now and loathe you were to admit it, you were getting worried about them. From what one of their friends have told you, it seems like they were recovering quite well, considering...

Your eyelids feels so heavy and you can feel yourself nodding off. You can't remember when you last slept; or when you last ate for that matter. A yawn escapes you, tears forming at the corner of your eyes. You probably look like shit. Honestly, you don't even know why you were so worried for the damn bastard-

Their hand twitches.

You felt your fatigue and sleepiness disappear in a flash, as if you chugged that monstrous combination of coffee and Red Bull in one gulp.

Their head leans further into the pillow as their eyes scrunched up, body twisting slightly to their left, being confined to their bed leaving their muscles stiff and aching. Finally, they open their eyes (well, technically they only opened one eye) and stare blankly at the ceiling. They don't seem to notice your presence and you've gotten impatient with waiting, so you put your hand to your mouth and let out a loud cough. Maybe then, they'll fucking finally look at you-

They blink twice –confused, as they search for the source of the cough— and push themselves up with their elbows, wincing at how much their body was so unused to movement and carrying their own weight. They stare at you blankly, tilting their head to the side like they were one of those confused moe anime characters. Nothing is said, as both of you just stare at the other.

You decide that this silence was getting you nowhere (no shit, Sherlock-) and start, "Well?" Their blank gaze was starting to creep you out and hey, you might actually like seeing that annoying-as-hell smug grin on their face instead. "What's all this? Staring with that creepy-ass stare, geez. Is it the meds? They fucking up your brain or some shit?" You're not a doctor, that much you admit, but you're sure that this isn't how someone acts after waking up from some sorta coma-like state-

"Sorry but," they interrupt your train of thought, "might I ask: who are you?"

Blood drains from your face as you look at them with dread in your eyes. This is not happening. This can't be happening. This can NOT be fucking happening-

A burst of laughter tears you away from your trance. They were laughing their heart out, hands clutching their bandaged stomach and tears welling up as their eye is closed shut.

You're brain-dead, probably, as you stare uncomprehendingly at the sight of the damn jackass wheezing and sounding like a dying cat. Or maybe a hyena. Yeah, hyena sounds better.

"I can't," they slip a giggle or two, the little shit, "can't believe you actually fell for that!" They wipe their tears and shoot that annoying and maddening smug grin that you hate oh so much.

You feel your fists clenching tightly, gritting your teeth so hard they might break.

Suddenly, they fall to the floor with a pained gasp. You don't realize that you've punched them until you feel the familiar sting of pain on your knuckle.

"YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!" you yell at the fallen and injured shitty person you can't believe even fucking exists and maybe, just maybe, you had been considering trying to be their friend but no, the fucker just ruined the slimmest chance of that happening with that stunt they just pulled. "To think I actually got worried about you, to think I'd actually been considering becoming your friend!" You look down and no, you were not trying to hide the tears (which are non-existent, you swear) dribbling down your chin. You just didn't want to look at the idiot's stupid and ugly face anymore.

"I HATE YOU!!" you scream one last time and slam the door shut loudly and with more force than needed; you were hoping the hinges broke off. Screw the neighbors if they complain, it's not your problem anyway.

They stare at your pissed off, retreating back with a sad smile as they ignore the pain on their stinging cheek. "Heh," they chuckle, fingers lightly brushing the hidden, faint scars on their wrist. "I hate me, too."

They make no motion to get back on the bed. They just sat there on the ground, hugging their knees to their chest.

Maybe their clothes were getting wet. Maybe their eyes were getting red, puffy, and aching. Maybe they're tired of screaming their voice hoarse every night, but they don't really care.

(At least, that's the lie they tell to themselves each time.)

also,,, maybe tell me if you imagined any character while reading this?? i wanna know if this writing reminded someone of any character or smtn...