Creativity Must Be Present {Oneshots for The Boiz(tm)}

Strain

A vent written

   His silhouette is sat as his desk, hunched over a mess of books in the dark, the only light emitting from the screen of his laptop; images of fake fantasy locations, tabs upon tabs of synonyms of different words, subreddits for fantasy world building pulled up in a separate window. His blue eyes are bloodshot and tired, the bright light making his eyes sting, his hand cramping from writing notes — only to erase them and write them again and repeat.
   He felt dead. Dead and depressed. He wanted it to be over, part of him wishes this passion was just a phase, but he can still feel it. Burning faintly beneath the shit that's been built up on top. He glances back and forth between the windows and tabs on the screen and his notebooks, trying to find any form of organization in the masses of chaos, but there was none. No speck of sanity or rest in sight. At least not for another few hours.
   Time and time again, he checked the clock, sometimes getting lost in the seconds as they passed by.

6:03AM...

He dropped his pencil and slammed his fist into his desk as he screamed quietly. His strained vision blurred as he peered at his bed with a sense of longing, but he shook it off with a scowl. Angry with himself, he turned back to his laptop, scrolling mindlessly through the subreddit. He felt guilty. Guilty for not working on this for months. Thoughts of just throwing in the towel flooded his mind as he clutched at his head, raking his cold, aching fingers through his hair and tugging harshly. He slapped himself across the face. Hard. It was to keep himself awake.
   His friends were long gone, in bed to sleep until the next morning. Rather, this morning. He swallowed, feeling the tears finally trickle down his cheeks. The music wasn't helping like he thought it would. Some of the songs made him feel even lonelier than he had been for nearly the past two years now. He was fine with the isolation at first, knowing it would give him time to work, but now?
   Now he's going insane. Talking to himself to fill the silence, pretending there's someone beside him in his room to help him laugh and stay positive while he went through this. But there's no one there. There hasn't been for a while, and he was aware of that.
   This was a viscous spiral he's been experiencing for months. He felt lost, cold, alone, he felt deadly to himself. But.., he didn't want to burden anyone he knew with this. So, he keeps it quiet from everyone around him. He knows he's failing in high school, he knows he can't go to college yet like he wanted to, he'll fail faster than you can say "no."
   "We decided to go with someone whose schedule was a little more open. Sorry." Went the voice on the phone. He didn't want to feel like a child, so he laughed it off, told them "oh, that's alright. Thank you anyways."
   He's a habitual liar when it comes to things like these. The day he realized he was depressed, he was fine. When he started acting on thoughts, he was fine. When he went through his first breakup, he was fine. Being told his sexuality was fake and a disgrace to a God he used to believe in, he was fine. Once internalized transphobia, he was fine. Hiding every little flaw about his health, he was fine. Isolation from the only people who actively cared about him? He was fine. Falling for his best friend, and the feelings are mutual, but knowing both he and himself needed to focus more on where their lives were gonna go? And aware that neither of them were mentally prepared for a relationship? He was fine. Feeling disgusting every fucking time he looks down at a scale? He's fine. He's turning eighteen in eight months and he hasn't done anything in his life that will make his existence not only others, but to himself as well? He's fine. Feeling the creeping thoughts of giving up on his passion project? He's fine. He's fine, he's always fine, and he always will be fine.

He's shaking...

Sobbing and heaving with his forehead against his desk and his hands clutching at his sweatshirt..?

It's fine.

"He feels like he's suffocating."

"He's fine."

You're fine.
You're fine.

You're fine.