(A/N
It's so much easier to write cause I'm writing this on notes then copy pasting so YAY! It's a lot easier!)

It had been a week or so since Horror had stopped Nightmare from trying to hang himself. Since then, everyone had been more watchful over the goopy skeleton. But Nightmare, himself, wasn't happy that his gang had hid all of the knives, or anything else he could've used to end his life.

He was, in all, pissed.

Said skeleton was angrier a lot more. His temper was shorter and even just glancing at him for more then half a second made him snappy. He didn't know the urge to die could be so..

Addicting.

And now knowing he couldn't feel the sweet release of death made him grouchy.

Though, his gang was only looking out for him! He had so much more to live for! And the worst part was that Nightmare wouldn't even talk to them at all. He only gave them side glares or growls at them coming to close. He would shove them if they accidentally brushed up against him when walking. Hell, Dust had to stop Killer from being thrown into a wall when he'd made a bad joke to try and cheer up the black one.

Though, Nightmare had to admit. He was grateful for Horror stopping him from killing himself that time.

It wasn't planned good, nor was the method good enough for his liking.

Nightmare was a very strategic person. He was also a major perfectionist and clean freak. If he was going to do anything, it had to be done in a way where his OCD would be satisfied. That night, he was sweaty, tired, and the rope wasn't even tied good! Though, that was only a trial run anyways.

He'd written down multiple methods in his journal. Different ways, hell, even a few that included death to those damned stars he hated so much. His suicide notes were already written. He had multiple! Some even dated back to years ago! Though, those were useless and badly written in very few details.

Suicide notes in general were rather easy to write. As long as he used his wording right and added descriptive detail, everyone would understand the reason for him deciding to end his life.

It may sound really cliche but it literally all started when he was born. Well.. maybe not exactly but at least a year or two after that. It was to be expected. He was a negative person. Literally! He rarely felt any kind of positivity due to his depressing aura. Which someone affected himself as well. Maybe it was the very harsh stares. Or the mumbling of him being a demon aloud. Maybe how people cowered in fear when he and Dream walked into the village, but picked on him and bullied him when they got the young guardian alone.

Or maybe he just wanted to die. Maybe he just woke up feeling like shit one day and was scared. Then he envied the people who died. He started fantasizing about death so much more. It was his drug. How did it feel? Would his bones ache? His soul feeling like it was dipped in acid? He wanted to know.

He needed to know.

The others; his gang, had decided to keep close watch. They all agreed not to tell Dream. That was just asking for a tentacle to the head, or a fight to the death. Except, Nightmare would try to accept death instead. Nightmare still wasn't eating. Hell, it'd went so far as the guys having to hold down the octopus and force feed him so that he didn't dust right then and there!

Then, this specific day, there was a knock on his door.

"What do you want. I'm busy."

It was quiet till a very familiar, bold but also soft voice came from the other side.

"Boss?"

Nightmare audibly groaned, using his black extension that others called 'tentacles', to open the door rather harshly. On the other side was one of his men. His first one to be exact. His right-hand man as some may call it. The one with those dark, deep eye sockets that looked into your very soul. Or the tar leaking from his eyes. Especially the target-shaped soul that had everyone who looked, intrigued of its past meaning. To everyone except Nightmare who could care less.

"What do you want, Killer." The statement came out in a forced tone. Like he was snapped out of his trance, his gaze locking on the other male's.

"Just.. came to check on you.." he mumbled. Killer had to stop his hands from shaking. The aroma of lavender tea was filling up the room as Killer closed the door behind him gently, walking over and setting the cup down on Nightmare's desk. "Well, as you can see, I'm fine. You can leave now." He scowled, covering his paper with his arm, his grip on the pen tightening only a smidge.

"..."

Nightmare slammed his fist down on the wooden desk, making the other flinch. "I said leave. Do not make me repeat myself, Killer. Are you forgetting who you work for? Or did you grow a pair and try to stand against me? It's not an option."

Killer still did not leave. He stood with his posture straight, but also comfortably. "Boss.. you know that you can always talk to me. I'd never.. wish to re-direct your way of thinking, but.. we all understand you're going through some tough times. And we're here to—"

"—you do not know anything about me, Killer. You do not understand me. None of you do. I am not suffering. I am not in pain. And I do not want your sympathy."

Killer wasn't quiet at that. And Nightmare swore he could feel the negativity radiating off of the other like some kind of lighthouse. The confident guy that walked in here was just a facade that'd quickly been broken by Nightmare's cold nature.

The black skeleton turned his body back to face the right way at his desk, continuing his writing. "Now leave."

Killer didn't say anything else, only leaving the tea— with shaky hands— on the guardian's desk and exiting the room, shutting the door, just as gently as he'd entered, behind him.