It fucking stinks in here.

Well, the reason was obvious. And that reason was the dead girl across the room, infront of the only exit. Her once captivating face, blemished by the deep gashes and scratches dealt to her visage. Her once prestine body, covered in dried blood from the knife wounds on her back and other miscellaneous cuts that showed she was a fighting spirit, even struggling on the verge of her inevitable death.

Inevitable on his terms. Everytime he looked at the kitchen knife now painted in her vital fluids, and the flesh and other gunk stuck under his fingernails, he would be reminded of the events that had taken place just a few days ago.

To be honest, even though she reeked, she never looked more beautiful.

Pewds didn't seem to agree.

"Hey, mind opening a window?"

Cry had tried, many times, to make casual conversation with the man nearby. It's strange, once he had discovered the masked man hovering over Marzia whilst he thrashed the sharp knife across her face, Pewdie was absolutely irrational and livid. He screamed and body slammed Cry away from his formerly breathing girlfriend, tried so desperately to land a hit on him, spouting out profanities and insults directed at him. Cry tried his best to calm him down.

Delivering a harsh slash across his cheek seemed to do the trick just fine.

After that, Pewds underwent the strangest episode that Cry had very rarely seen from him. He sobbed and sobbed, hiccuping a "Why?", "Marzia...", and "You sick bastard..." every so often. For a whole day. That was pretty fucking annoying, especially whenever Cry tried to give him a comforting hug, Pewdie would move away persistently. He might have lost his patience with him a couple times. Pewdie had the bruises to prove it.

Eventually, Pewds let Cry hug him. It was an amazing feeling, at first. Drinking in just how hot this Swedish man was. His fluffy, dirty blonde hair, his little mustache and goatee, his adorable mole that was just above his lip, his rectangular face now adorning a long scar that just made him look badass as fuck, and best of all, his blue eyes. Those stunning, precious blue orbs. He could just eat 'em up~! The experience served as a memento of what he had wanted for himself. What was rightfully his, and his alone.

Nobody else's.

His.

His.

Really, he didn't hate Marzia. She was a lovely, charming woman.

She was just in the way.

But, Pewds. Oh, dear, naïve, oblivious Pewds. He was still so caught up in her charisma.

He just... stopped reacting to Cry's advances. He wouldn't hug Cry back, he wouldn't respond to Cry whenever he spoke to him, he wouldn't even look at Cry in the eye. He was frozen in his place at a corner of the room, holding his knees. His gaze was directed at his sweetheart's rotting corpse, all the time. All the fucking time.

"Y'know, it stinks in here."

"Could you open the window?"

"Come on, Pewds, don't be a dick."

"Do you seriously wanna be smelling this?! It's starting to make me gag a little."

"Open the window, Pewds."

Slap.

"You fucker."

Pewdiepie's head was now turned from the strike Cry had delivered. Pewds' emotional state, however remained static. His eyes blank, his lips straight. Only thing different about his face was the red mark adorning his cheek.

God damn it.

"Open your eyes, Pewds." Cry spat out. He was tired, fucking tired of Pewdie's attitude. Why did he have to be so stubborn, so idiotic? Couldn't he see? Couldn't he see that Cry was all he needed?

"She's dead now. She won't be coming back. Ever."

Nothing.

"Just quit being a little bitch and get over it already. She's dead. Dead."

Zero.

"You don't need her anyway. You've got me, Pewds. We could play video games all day, and have so much fun." A chuckle was let out by Cry. He really enjoyed the idea.

Zip.

"Pewds, say something."

Nada.

"FUCK, MAN!"

He raised his hand.

Slap. Slap. Slap. Slap. Slap. Slap. Slap. Slap. Slap. Slap. Slap. Slap. Slap.

He worked so fucking hard. For nothing. Months of planning, scoping, buttering up, gone to this. An uncommunicative lover.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Cry ceased his blows. The room was silent. Again.

"What do you want from me, Pewds. I'll do anything. Jesus, man. Just... say something. Anything. Tell me you love me already!"

Cry let out a sob. God damn it, now he was going to be the whiny bitch for the day. Just gre-

What?

He could have sworn that Pewds just said something. Cry stared at him in disbelief, his eyes begging for his chapped lips to move again. What did he say? It sounded a lot like-

"Kill me."

What?

But... if Pewds died... then how...? This didn't make any sense. Cry's head started to hurt, his throat started to clench, his palms started to sweat. Where was the Pewds that he knew? What had happened to that man? The man that would crack jokes all the time, that would always have that cheeky smile, that would let out that cute hyena laugh that he was so embarassed of, that would light up everything and everyone around him? What he was seeing was the polar opposite, a downcast, silent, sorry piece of trash.

"Please... just..." Pewdie choked out and hid his face, composed of bright red bruises, with his dry hands.

That's when Cry knew. Cry knew.

He had failed. He not only killed Marzia, but killed Pewds in the process as well.

How could a dead man love him, huh?

Cry started to cry.

Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.

He lifted himself and reached for the knife, his vision being blurred by the onslaught of tears that started to make streaks on his dirty face. He didn't want... whoever this was... next to him. He wasn't Pewds, he was just a look alike.

He took a final glance at the shell before him. The shell looked back at him.

Those blue eyes.

Those fucking blue eyes.

Cry slipped out a wail as he brought down the knife and closed his eyes. Within mere seconds, he could feel warm blood leaking onto his hand.

It felt... alive. Truly alive.

He continued bawling as he thrust out the knife and brought it in again. And again. And again. And again. All he could hear was the pained squeal from the shell. All he could feel was more and more of that warm liquid spilling onto him. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again.

Cry's arm was starting to get sore. So he stopped. And opened his eyes.

The shell remained as usual. Empty expression. Just now, he was painted in crimson.

He looked beautiful.

Cry started to behold the sight. Really behold it. Two bodies, both now just vacant vases of once cheerful people.

Soon to be three.

He lifted the knife to his throat and took a deep breath.

It fucking stinks in here.


that was really experimental and also pretty fucked up.

sorry bout that.