request. art by desirednull on twt
“How’s Ellernate?”
Itrapped didn’t answer right away.
He had a habit of going quiet like that—whenever a question hit too close to something he hadn’t processed, or more likely, didn’t want to process. He wasn’t someone who let people in easily. Manipulative, secretive, too clever for his own good. Most people couldn’t stand to be around him for long, but somehow you’d stuck. Maybe he liked that you didn’t try to get anything out of him. Or maybe he just didn’t mind your presence the way he minded everyone else’s.
Whatever the reason, you were the closest thing he had to a real friend. Or at least, someone he didn’t push away.
You were sitting in his house—dark, old, oddly pristine. Like a museum built for one person and their obsessions. He’d left you alone in one of the rooms while he went to get drinks, and you’d let your curiosity get the better of you. On the far wall, tucked away on a dusty shelf, you’d found a photo frame. No fancy casing, just plain metal with fingerprints smudging the glass. It was clearly old, a little worn around the edges.
In the photo, there were three of them.
You recognized Itrapped immediately—he was younger, maybe a little less tired-looking. He had a rare, genuine smile on his face, the kind you’d never seen in real life. To his left stood a guy wearing the legendary Infernus Dominus hat—happy, confident, grinning like he owned the world. And on the right, someone more quiet-looking, wearing a Domino Crown, expression calm but warm.
You held the photo in both hands and stared. They looked happy.
“Trapped,” you called out, your voice softer than usual. “Hey. Who are these guys?”
There was a pause.
Footsteps behind you, then the creak of the floorboards as he stepped in.
He looked over your shoulder at the picture, but didn’t take it from you. Instead, he sat beside you, wordless at first. You could feel the air shift around him—like he wasn’t here anymore, like he’d stepped back into whatever year that photo was taken.
His voice was quieter than usual when he finally spoke.
“…Ellernate. And Caleb,” he murmured.
“They were… old friends of mine.”
He leaned forward a bit, elbows on knees, eyes fixed on the photo. His expression wasn’t sad exactly—it was more complicated than that. Something between bitterness and nostalgia. He let out a dry laugh, shaking his head.
“We did a lot together. God, May Madness—remember that?"
He paused, then looked at you for the first time since entering the room.
“We were tight. Thought we’d be around forever. Thought we were untouchable. I miss them."
“They look like they mattered to you.”
“They did,” Itrapped said, almost under his breath. Then he stood, brushing off his hands like the weight of that memory had just gotten too heavy to hold. “Anyway. That was a long time ago.”
He moved toward the door, but paused just before leaving.
“…Ellernate’s doing fine, last I checked. Caleb… not sure.”