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pining

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He was sitting there. In his bed. Alone. Hair down and swaddled in nearly 6 different blankets, even pulling the ones from out of his closet that he hasn’t used in years. He was feeling some kind of way that night. He wanted, someone. Just someone. Platonic or not, to hold him in their arms and tell him that everything was good.

He didn’t really get into these funks often, but this week had been giving him all sorts of hell. He kept his head up around his friends and always gave others encouragement, but that was only to keep himself from breaking down. Hearing everyone tell him how optomistic he was and how he kept everyone’s spirits up made his heart ache with a good type of pride. He loved making other people feel good about themselves, but why couldn’t he do that with himself?

He laid on his bed, buried in the blankets and the hoodie that he had gotten from Aloha for his birthday. It was an obnoxious hawaiian shirt pattern, but it was a nice texture against his skin. Silky; grounding. It wasn’t a good night, but something as small and insignificant as that made it better.

The warmth surrounding him didn’t do much for calming his feelings, though. It was a mix between a sinking feeling down in the pit of his gut and a pure, unadulterated flame in his heart. It hurt. He thought it might have meant something good, but as the night when on, and on, and on, and on, and on, he came to recognize the feeling. Sickly sweet love.

He was in love. In love with someone who would never love him back. He was viewed as the overly loving platonic friend, but nothing more.

Sure, the times when he could sneak a kiss on the forehead or head on this crush of his, he could feel his face darken a shade or two bluer. Now he was still blue, but in a different sense.

He missed them. He wanted them right beside him. He wanted them underneath the blanket pile, holding his hand. He wanted to be in their arms, and them giving him gentle kisses all over his face. He wanted to hear a warm chuckle when he happened to get tickled by one of the small smooches this person gave to him. He wanted them, so badly.

He was here, though. Alone. He ran cold, despite all the blankets encasing him. He could wish and beg all he wanted, but he could never get this person by his side. He would trade anything for it, but there was no devil or tradesman. Goggles was alone in his room, crying quietly in hopes that the person out there could hear him.