Ness felt his world crash during the game with PXG. His world had been filled with magic again because of Kaiser. He’d done everything, dedicated everything to him. He loved him. It never matter what Kaiser did to him, Ness always came back like the loyal dog he was. But this time… this time he’d been truly discarded. Kaiser doesn’t want him, doesn’t need him. Kaiser is better without him.
So what is the point of living? The devastation had broken him, tears covering his face on the pitch and he’d bit down on his lip so hard it’d started bleeding. In front of the entire world he’d been thrown away.
There’s no other king for him. Kaiser is the one who makes the impossible possible. His hands grip tight together, twisting painfully before he’s running off the pitch, game not even done. What’s it even matter?
Still in his uniform he’s back into his room and there’s a moment of scrambling to find a razor. Self harm hasn’t been his weakness,and that’s not what they were for but now… he finds the box, tosses it on the bed and strips his compression sleeves off, his jersey. He drops onto the floor to grab the box and gets one out. He just needs one.
He’s not thinking. He can barely see. Everything hurts so much and is nothing at the same time. There’s no point.
“Kaiser,” he sobs, pressing the blade into the skin of his left arm. The cuts aren’t deep at first, there’s no planning to them but they get deeper, eventually forming a messily written ‘Kaiser’ on his arm, he’s managed not to cut anything too important. There’s a lot of blood and it hurts like hell but he thinks to himself when he finally drops the blade that he probably won’t die. He’s not that fucking lucky. But he’s not trying to stop the bleeding either because maybe for once he might be lucky.
Cw: self harm, suicide
So what is the point of living? The devastation had broken him, tears covering his face on the pitch and he’d bit down on his lip so hard it’d started bleeding. In front of the entire world he’d been thrown away.
There’s no other king for him. Kaiser is the one who makes the impossible possible. His hands grip tight together, twisting painfully before he’s running off the pitch, game not even done. What’s it even matter?
Still in his uniform he’s back into his room and there’s a moment of scrambling to find a razor. Self harm hasn’t been his weakness,and that’s not what they were for but now… he finds the box, tosses it on the bed and strips his compression sleeves off, his jersey. He drops onto the floor to grab the box and gets one out. He just needs one.
He’s not thinking. He can barely see. Everything hurts so much and is nothing at the same time. There’s no point.
“Kaiser,” he sobs, pressing the blade into the skin of his left arm. The cuts aren’t deep at first, there’s no planning to them but they get deeper, eventually forming a messily written ‘Kaiser’ on his arm, he’s managed not to cut anything too important. There’s a lot of blood and it hurts like hell but he thinks to himself when he finally drops the blade that he probably won’t die. He’s not that fucking lucky. But he’s not trying to stop the bleeding either because maybe for once he might be lucky.