Chapter Text
"Like usual the plugin is completely free for download-"
Fundy tried to somehow get the last sentences of his video out without starting to babble or put his thumb in his mouth. He slowly felt the fuzziness take over and he wanted nothing more than for it to end well, really not having to nerves to set everything up again tomorrow. But mostly hoping that it won't be noticeable in the recording later on.
"-but without further ado, hope you guys enjoyed, take care and see ya!"
He put his last bit of energy and enthusiasm into it and then his OBS tab and turned his mic off, of course not without saving everything first, even in this state of mind still being a smart boy.
"jij bent mijn slimme kleine jongen", his mother always told him, for the time she was there. The voice is one of the first things you forget about a after they die but fundy made sure to always repeat the sentence in his brain, over and over again, rembering it when he's struggling with homework, and close to dropping out. Make your mother proud, do it for her.
He finally had the chance to take a deep breath and slump back in his chair and just calm himself, but that plan was quickly destroyed when tears began to make his eyes glossy and tears threatened to spill.
The thoughts of his mother mixing with he fog in his mind which was taking completely over him quickly make him feel even more vulnerable and helpless. His head hurts and he is exhausted and tired and he wants his mama back, it's been so many years and he still misses her as much as that little seven year old Floris did.
He just wants her back, wants to be hugged and comforted and cared for and love and just anything, anything that isn't cold glares and that monotone voice of his father that mutters: kom er overheen, word nu al volwassen, je gaat nu echt huilen? God, je had met haar moeten branden.
His papa was all he had left, but he never cared, he made sure he had a roof over his head and that there was food in the fridge, but there came a time were beer and watching football (the good european one) with his friends was more important than his son. Everything was always more important than his son but the first five years he at least acted like he cared.
At age twelve was when it all started, or maybe it was just when he first noticed, but once he came home from school, where all the kids had been so mean and made fun of him, he found an empty fridge and an empty home. On the kitchen table laid a 20€ bill and a note that that must be enough for a week and that his father comes back home next Tuesday.
And ever since then it became a routine.
There was a 20€ bill on the table, either monday or tuesday whenever he came home, the notes stopped after the third time his father left, he never had the chance to ask where he was going or where he was going. But sometimes floris was lucky enough to find a few beers in the living room, his father forgot or just thought of them as unimportant.
His father thought of many things as unimportant, mostly everything that has to do with his son. He didn't even try to hide, little Floris always had to find a good excuse why his father didn't come to the parents meeting, not even answered the teachers mail. The next kick in the ass was when his classmates found out that something at home wasn't going the way it should, of course they never found out the wholw truth but that didn't stop them from mocking him for all they knew.
He had no one, he was alone, all he had left were some stuffed animals and childrens books and toys his mom bought him, his father never bothered to buy age appropriate one. Floris also drew a lot, he was a creative kid, colorful landscapes and a happy family holding each others hands hiding the ugly truth.
But Floris found comfort in those items, in the scenarios, in the mindset of a child, and back in time when everything was alright. It became a routine, it took up a lot of his free time and for a long time he wasn't able to put a name on it.
At seventeen he bought his first phone, all from the money the worked for (at 15 his dad stopped putting money on the table), it was an Samsung S6 it was great, he made a lot of connections and found people who experienced just as bad as him, who handled it the same as him. He became embarrassed of it, reading all those comments, and humiliating posts.
At least he could put a label on it now: Age regression.
And that's what he had in mind, everytime he regressed or at least in the stages beforehand. He replayed the comments, on the internet from the kids at school, from his father calling him a disgrace. It was a hell cycle, but he couldn't break it, he didn't want to break it. He enjoyed the stuffies and pacis and cozy clothes.
So he just does it. He stands up on wobbly legs from the way too big pc chair and slumps down on the bed, smashing his face into his little fox fungi, he just wants to fall asleep, dream about rainbows and butterflies and forget. His eyes felt heavy, his mind was clouded and with his last bit of energy he stripped his jeans off and drifted off into the dreamland.