Tommy was sat against a tree, fiddling with his raccoon tail as he stared up at the stars. He didn't know what to do, and he was bored, wracked with past traumas in his mind.

He would go see Tubbo but everything feels like it's changed. He's not sure why. Everything's been different, and he doesn't want to speak to many anymore because it just doesn't feel the same as it was before. Not anymore.

Tommy hummed to himself in boredom and his ears twitch slightly. He puts his tail down and sighs. Sneaking out doesn't do much anymore, and Phil doesn't really care much either. He's sixteen— and Phil's used to it, too. Nothing he can do.

He hated that he was blind in one eye and that every part of him was somehow hurt— he wasn't a stranger to pain. Even if he didn't like it, he wasn't a stranger to it.

Whether it be from his own self-inflicted pain, or as bad as Dream. Everything was pain in one way or another. He wanted it to stop— but he couldn't. Things wouldn't stop just cause he asks for it to.

He runs a hand through his hair, his ears twitching at the slight tickle of his hands grazing them. But it doesn't feel good, or like anything for that matter. He hasn't felt well in a while. But he doesn't wanna die— he just wants to be better. Wants to get out of this place. He's just a teen, did he deserve any of this? He knows he didn't. And he hates how all the trauma has subsided and they're left in the calm aftermath.