You Decorated My Universe (Stevencest)

NINE

PINK STEVEN

...

It's been a week since he got out of his room, and the worst part is, he hasn't eaten a thing nor he got out of his room ever since the incident. I've been preparing him food to eat, but he kept ignoring it and continued to spread the grief and dejection he enjoyed pleasing himself with it.

Dealing with this kind of symptom is really hard to deal on a regular basis, but mourning twenty four, seven and not coming out of the room was his bad idea. It made me down.

I wanted to be there to help him in any possible way, but problems like this could cause severely enough pain to his feelings. My emotions are slightly irrelevant, I barely exposed it through any body language or facial expressions unless it's necessary; all I could do is just stand do nothing. However, my mind is always processing and creates bunch of questions that made me wonder all the time.

For instance, it's already ten in the morning and still, Steven hasn't come out of his room. I couldn't prepare him food unless he wanted to eat.

What is he doing in there?

I knocked on the door and called, but I received no response from him. I tried it again but I failed to receive any response from him.

"You have to eat," I mentioned. "It's been a week since you've come out of your room."

I couldn't help but wonder what he might be doing on the other side of the door: Could he be staring at his phone while on a curled position lying on the ground? In a worst case scenario, is he already lifeless, or maybe just doing nothing? Who knows?

I twisted the doorknob and let myself in. He appeared to be staring at the window, covering himself up with his blanket on his pajamas. The place looked entirely messy, from his scattered clothes to crumpled paper sprinkled on the ground, to his misaligned books and unarranged picture frames. The horrific humidity, combination of both sweat and dust was blatantly noticeable.

I approached Steven as I sat on the bed, facing him with my brows furrowed. "Steven, you're torturing yourself. You can't stay here forever."

He only responded with a dissatisfying sigh.

Dark circles surrounded under his eyes, pale lips crisping bit by bit, and his pastel skin evolving by each minute. The concern grew within me looking at his state which is, indeed, displeasing. I placed my hand on his forehead and the burning hotness crawled beneath my pink glowing skin.

"Let me see your belly button," I said, reaching out my hand to his shirt.

He flinched to the side. "No."

"Don't be so stubborn, Steven."

"Oh, you're the one to talk!" reprimanded he with a cautioned countenance.

I let out a sigh—an apprehensive manner I did. "I'm half of you, I'm the source of half of your energy. I'm trying to help you, whether you like it or not, for the sake of your health."

He turned with a processing look he pulled off. He seemed hesitant to let me do the thing, but I insisted. I could at least heal him for the temporary measure to resist the pain away.

I lifted his shirt up and saw that his nerves began to appear veining out of his belly button through his skin. It looked even worse than before, never did I expect the outrageous after effect of ignoring to be checked up frequently.

"Don't move." I stuck my finger on my mouth and pulled it out with my saliva coated on the tip.

"Not your healing spit again? It's gross," complained Steven. "I won't let you stick your darn finger on my belly button ever again."