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Everyone is asleep.
A rarity, really. Usually there'll be at least someone still awake at this hour, but alas, he's the only one awake tonight.
... Is it selfish of him to wish there was someone still awake? It is, isn't it?
They don't want to bother them. They won't.
Ashle doesn't know how long he's been staring into the mirror for. A couple minutes? Hours? They don't want to look at their watch, the glow was nauseating enough.
The longer he looked, the more his reflection melts and blurs. They can't tell who they're looking at anymore. They can't tell if they ever existed. A hand presses itself against the glass and covers where the head should be, glimpses of someone barely visible between their fingers.
He tears his eyes off the mirror and rushes out the bathroom he's in. Their head feels like static.
Footsteps echoes through the silent house, each step stuttering and inconsistent. He doesn't know where he's going. Their lungs feels as through they're squished into a tiny box and the growing feeling of something in them makes them heave.
He feels awful. He deserves it.
Stumbling against a doorway, they rest their forehead against its frame. The cold makes it easier to think, if only for a moment.
They don't know when they sat down, their fingers digging into their jacket. He barely registered it but he's shaking, their vision blurs as a sob escapes his throat. Them? Crying? Again?
Of course he is. Like the pathetic, stupid thing he is. Always crying. Always standing there and doing nothing but watching. Always naive and trusting and that's what he gets for it, what he deserves for putting their trust in people he shouldn't.
He curled into himself, his hand covering his mouth, trying to stop the noises he's making. Trying to ignore the feeling of something at the back of his throat, trying to ignore the thoughts he didn't want to think about. Another sob, and they bit into their finger as hard as he could.
A metallic taste greets his senses, their teeth digging deeper into his skin. The pain was easier to focus on then the ache in their chest. The world feels so fuzzy. He swears he feels hands wrapped around their throat, pressed firmly against him. Knees against his chest, their arms wrapped around them as his head lowers towards his knees.
They don't want to look up. They don't want to know if the feeling of eyes are just in their head or not. They don't want to know.
He thinks his finger is bleeding. The feeling of his teeth lingers, aching, hurting.
Good.
They shut their eyes and in the dark, silent house, their muffled cries echoes until their consciousness fades.