Chapter Text
Dark looked up at the clock. The numbers blurred in his vision, and he leaned back, closing his eyes. Was there something wrong with him? Well, obviously there was. There always was, as he said himself. A shaky breath in and a shaky breath out later, Dark walked over to the window and opened the blinds. The starry night he saw calmed him a little, despite the exhaustion tugging at his eyes. He didn't need to sleep. Unlike a normal human, he didn't need both food or sleep to exist. He just needed one way of gaining his energy back, and while doing both was a surefire way to do it quickly, efficiently, and for longer, sleeping was a much, much easier thing to bother himself with. After the entity closed his eyes for a bit longer than he had anticipated, long enough for him to nearly collapse, he went over to his bed and let his eyes shut. For much, much longer this time.
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"Journaling?" Dark asked as he raised an eyebrow. "Seems like a waste of time to me."
"It's a tried and true method to relieve some negative feelings." Dr. Iplier said, writing some things down on a clipboard.
"You're the one saying I experience these negative feelings. I am perfectly fine with the way I exist at the moment."
"Well, according to Wilford-"
"He's going to make it much more dramatic than it needs to be "
"Well, it doesn't seem too dramatic. I think what he said about your lifestyle is that you stay in your room and only come down for something to eat, which he doesn't think you do often enough," Dr. Iplier looked in some random folder. "I'm a doctor. I know what's best. I think journaling might help you with whatever is going on behind those mysterious eyes."
"I'll keep that in mind."
Dark left the office, brushing his hair out of his face. Damien had kept a journal while he was alive, on and off. Later in life he didn't have the time. The closest thing Celine ever got was her quote unquote "paranoid" log of unusual happenings around the manor. One of the smaller things Dark got from the two was Celine's resentment at being ignored. However, Dark didn't want to think about the two any longer. He was going to go back to his room, and-
"Damien! Outside of your room I see?" Wilford was positively beaming. As always.
"...Yes, Wil. And I am going back into it," Dark said with annoyance in his voice.
"Aww. You never hang out with any of us anymore! Never hang out with me! Your bestest friend forever and ever."
Dark rolled his eyes. He couldn't help a small smile. Wilford was the only one that could do that nowadays. "Later, Wil."
"You always say that," Wilford complained. "C'mon, everyone misses you! Even Kathryn at the studio has asked about you." Dark sighed, simply continuing to walk, knowing Wilford would trail behind him. "Damien, please. I just want to spend time with my bestest friend. What were you doing outside of your room, anyway? I didn't see you down at the kitchen, so you weren't getting something to eat-"
"I was talking to Dr. Iplier."
Wilford tilted his head. "Why? Is there something wrong with you?"
"No, of course not. Very little can affect me physically. The only problem he would ever have to address would be energy deprivation, and the remedy for that is just a quick nap."
"Then why were you talking to him?" This was getting annoying. Dark had to remind himself that it was just because Wilford cared. It was stupid that Wilford cared, but still. That was the only reason.
"He asked to talk to me."
Wilford was about to open his mouth to say something else before Dark put his index finger over Wilford's mouth. "Shh. That's enough." Wilford was too confused by the gesture to continue speaking.
Dark paused at the door to his room. His hand was on the doorknob already. "Am I really your bestest friend?" He asked quietly, almost as if the silly and grammatically incorrect label actually meant something to him.
"Of course! My bestest friend forever and ever. What about me? Am I your bestest friend?" Wilford asked hopefully, leaning in closer to Dark. Wilford had no sense of personal space or boundaries.
Dark looked away to hide his smile. He opened the door. "...If not, you're the closest I'll ever get."
November 3
I don't understand how keeping a journal could do anything for me. I - or should I say Damien - used to keep one just for the fun of it. Not because a silly doctor recommended it. Sure, it helped him keep his thoughts in check. Oh, whatever. That hardly matters anymore. No need to dwell on the past. So, what am I supposed to do again? Just talk about my day? It wasn't anything important or interesting other than the appointment Dr. Iplier demanded we have. It's been getting colder. I despise the cold. I'll never admit it, but I get cold very easily. Of course, that isn't the only problem with it. Hopefully it will never snow this winter. The only thing I hate more than cold is snow. There have been a few rare years where no snow has fallen. I hope that happens this year. Oh, well. I'll just bundle myself up in blankets and wear a sweater and keep the heating on. Call it seasonal depression or something. No need for anyone to know anything else. Wilford will probably fret over me. More than he already does, anyway. It's cute, in a way. I don't understand how anyone could care about someone like me. Well. I suppose us misfits have to stick together. Wasn't that one of the largest points of this entire household? Each one of us has been cast aside one way or another. Dr. Iplier was fired, Bim's show wasn't renewed, Eric's father had to be forcefully removed from our manor, Bing was shoved aside for Google and Google himself was an abandoned project. The Author went a little mad and turned into the Host who would be otherwise shunned by his appearance and hemophilia, King ran on his own terms, and the Jims.. Well, that is a story I do not wish to write down at the moment. It is much too long. And then there is Wilford and I. A demon and a psychotic madman shaped by the same incident, by the same events and places and people. Oh, Wil. Whatever did I do to you?
Before Dark knew it he had lost track of time. The pencil shook slightly in his hand. Perhaps it would be wise to get some more rest. He closed the notebook he had been writing in and stashed it in a very secret and protected space in his desk, then managed to stumble into bed. He found himself staring blankly at the ceiling. Funny how you can get tired and then be wide awake the moment your head hits the pillow.
