Chapter Text
Within Cross's bedroom, he sat at his desk. He’d be anywhere else, honestly, but it's like all of the energy within him had been absolutely drained. He didn't even have his usual motivation to train, something he’s always turned to when his mind decided to act like this.
Everytime, no matter what distraction Cross used on himself, he would come back to the same thought. His universe.
It was times like these where everything hit a lot harder, and the locket around his neck weighed so much more. It almost suffocated him at points, but even then, he can't stand the idea of parting with it.
With a sigh, Cross carefully clicked open the locket, greeted with the faces of his former friends and family. He himself smiled up to Cross, much younger and untouched by grief. It was blinding, and it spoke volumes of what once was. Cross could only give back a somber gaze.
He’ll never know that happiness again.
Never will he have that same glint of his eyes fueled by adolescent tenacity. A fire that once burned within his very soul, yearning for the greatness that was the future, something that was snuffed out the very second he realized he was the only one to have a future.
On days like these, Cross had that faint desire, to have been granted the mercy of dying alongside all of them. Yet, the thought of that made him recoil slightly, because that meant the chance of seeing them again in the afterlife. Cross wasn't stupid, he knows that he’s forever shunned from the entirety of monster-kind. In their eyes, he wasn't no monster, but a monster. Never can he make peace with that.
He clenched his hands, turning them into rigid fists. Cross is going to die without having protected anyone. Without ever making it up to them. Without ever, not once, making his father proud.
A distant crack of metal, and Cross stops. Tenderly, he opened up his hand – Almost like a blooming flower – Only to find that the insides were crushed. It wasn't particularly in shambles, but there were a few ragged lines that sprouted all over the gold. The tiny contraption that held the two sides of the locket together, however, was broken and the picture inside had been partially rumpled.
Oh.
Cross had just ruined the only thing he had left, hadn't he?
Oh.
Oh God.
His hands trembled uselessly, letting the locket clatter into his wooden desk with the tiniest ‘tink’. Then, with one hand, he grasped tightly at his chest, clawing at the turtleneck. With the other, he clamped at his mouth, a wave of nausea churning deep within him.
Cross’s face burned, a swirl of guilt and shame swimming within his eyes, while hot, wet tears dribbled all the way down to his chin. He choked down a sob that threatened to shred its way out his throat. He wanted to scream, to scream to the entire world of his hurt and pain and let everything know of his suffering because what was the point of going through it all just for nobody to even know, but, that's exactly what he didn't want. And yet… Torn between the two desires, clashing within Cross’s mind, all he could do was silently cry.
He wouldn't be so broken if he just had someone. Someone that shared his traumas, or had the slightest hint of it. Of course, nobody in the gang could understand, because they shared achingly similar beginnings and paths while Cross just had to be the Outlier. Nightmare was one, too, but that's the only thing they had in common. A title. Neither he nor anyone else would carry empathy instead of blatant pity.
Maybe if he had a willing father throughout his life to talk to, to be held by, he could be more at peace with his emotions. Cross yearned to express himself, and yet feared what would come from it. He hated keeping his feelings chained within the very core of his soul, and yet it was the only thing that gave him comfort; some peace of mind. It was an endless war and he was so sick of fighting as deep down, he was just a boy that wanted to make everyone proud, and for it he was punished.
That boy, however, never left Cross, forever a fragment of who he is and used to be. That same boy had lied beaten and battered while Cross had stood tall, his back turned against him. Sometimes, he would cry his sorrows with the boy or be as beaten as him, and rarely, ever so rarely, did he look at him and have the urge to lend a hand… In the end, Cross would just stand up again and look away. Sometimes, it was easier to forget the boy had ever existed at all.
As Cross could manage nothing but stewing within his own thoughts, stuck by the same patterns of problems and failed solutions, he was broken out of his stupor as a gentle knock echoed throughout his room. A rugged, yet soft voice spoke, and he didn't need to think twice to know who it was – Nobody else but Nightmare. “Cross? Are you doing okay in there?”
Cross's breathing hitched, if only by surprise, and he grabbed at his chest tighter. The last thing he ever needed was to drag any others into his world of problems. It was a world nobody deserved to live in except himself.
No one needs to know.
Typically, Cross found comfort within that, as it felt he was guarding a very precious piece of himself that he’ll never let anyone else harm. Though, he knows that precious piece – that very boy he refuses to acknowledge – has broken very long ago, so now Cross was left to mourn by himself, guarding shattered remains. It only felt like a cold stab to his heart, wedging itself deeper over time.
No one will know.
Cross breathed in, let go of himself, and detached himself from his mind. A method that's been trained into him as a knight, so he would never fight with the burden of his emotions.
There was a slight click and his door opened, followed by a small stream of light from the hallways. “Cross?” Nightmare spoke, peeking his head in ever so slightly.
Cross pulled on a calm face, steeled his nerves, and turned towards his boss. “I'm fine,” He said with a cool tone, though he had to fight for his voice not to waver. “Don't worry about me.”
Nightmare stared at him, giving a narrow of his eye. “Are you sure? You can talk to me, or any one of us for that matter.”
“I'm sure,” Cross returned, giving little room for argument.
Nightmare wasn't very convinced, but with a sigh he relented, letting Cross win the battle for now. “Don't be afraid of coming to us,” was the only thing he said before he closed the door once more. Cross ignored the way his body shook, alone again.
No one will know.