Shy Blue Eyes <<{[]}>> Chapter Forty-Six

Instructions

<< !!(somewhat) Horror Chapter!! !!This is important to the plotline !!>> Feather huffed as he took his seat, feeling like he was about to basically pass out from how tired he was. Searchlight completely ignored sitting in their own seat and decided to take Feather's lap instead, wrapping their arms around his neck. He set his stuff down in his desk, leaning his head back. "Ugh," he grumbled, wrapping his arm around Searchlight's waist. "Hmm," Searchlight sighed, resting their head on his chest. Feather reached over their shoulder, picking up his journal. His therapist had recommended writing about his days to help him stay positive. 'Dear Feather, today is going to be a great day because...' (yes it's a Dear Evan Hansen ref), and 'Dear Feather, today was a (insert good or bad depending on how his day went) because...' He opened to the next empty page, taking a moment to very quickly read some words on the previous one, and was instantly confused. The entry from yesterday didn't have yesterday's date on it, and it wasn't from yesterday at all. "Huh?" He leaned forward slightly, taking his time reading the entry. It was definitely his handwriting, but it wasn't his writing style at all. 'Dear Feather, today was awful. I was driving home, and a car came at me. The driver was on the wrong side of the road. Searchlight was in the seat next to me, and they died from the impact.' Feather tilted his head, now on full alert. 'I got off with a lot of bruises and a fractured collarbone, but I don't know. It feels a lot worse. I'm not sure what I should do without Searchlight here.' Feather froze up, checking the date on the page again. It was dated for today. "What...?" He looked down at Searchlight, who was sleeping soundly against his chest. He was absolutely mortified. No. It has to be some kind of a sick joke. Someone copied his handwriting and played a dirty prank. It's fine. He didn't write this. <<Timeskip, on the drive home>> Feather looked around, his grip on the steering wheel way tighter than it had to be. He'd had this strange feeling of being watched since he read that journal entry. He drove extra carefully, slowing down sometimes when he didn't need to. He was almost at the hotel. He could see it at this point. Okay. This is good. They're almost home. He sped up just a bit, wanting to get inside as soon as he could. But out of nowhere, a car drove onto the road, coming straight at them. He screeched, trying to swerve to get out of the way, but it was already too late. The airbags went off, right in his face. He instantly turned his head to look at Searchlight, but all he could see was blood. He pushed the airbag away, trying to get to Searchlight. He grabbed what he could only hope to be their shoulder, pulling them away from the seat, but instantly froze up as he could see their face. Their eyes were closed, and they had a very actively bleeding gash on their forehead. He could instantly tell that they were losing too much blood. Anything right after that was a blur.