Chapter Text
Arthur’s taken to drinking again.
He’d quit, once upon a time, on a half-hearted promise.
But drinking’s easy. It’s certainly easier than remembering.
And the sweet rot of it all melts down his throat like a final meal. Something inside purrs happily when he does.
And the walls stop looking like eyes that track his every move but instead a flowing field of wheat. Mellow and hypnotizing. Arthur can reach out and touch the wispy grains if he so wishes. He does. They brush his face, scratchy and soft.
He thinks it’d be okay if he died here.
(Arthur can’t breathe can’t move can’t feel—)
Arthur is on the floor when he opens his eyes. Except he doesn’t open his eyes, because his vision is dark murky nothing, and he can’t even see that wallpaper he hates. He opens his eyes and there is nothing.
He’s on the floor. He doesn’t quite remember what he was doing.
Hello, friend.