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The old door creaked open as if sensing his hesitation, the gloom within parting with the glow from the hallway behind him. The showhost’s silhouette stretches across the floor in front of him in a way that almost has him shutting the door once more. A steadying breath braces itself against his ribs and with an agonizingly slow step, one polished dress shoe lifts over the sill, then the other. Bim doesn’t even have to turn the light on to be able to see that nothing has changed in the room. The once comfortably close walls of the relatively small room are now looming and claustrophobic as though the friendly familiarity of the room faded along with it’s owner. Perhaps it had, he thinks, as his dark shoes leave imprints on the dusty floor. Formerly pristinely organized tools of the trade now lie painfully still. The shine has gone from the scalpels on the table in front of him already. Perhaps the doctor’s magic had in part aided the cleanliness of the office...or perhaps it had remained untouched longer than he had realized.
Something on the older ego’s desk tightens the barbed wire around Bim’s heart with a pang. How often had he or the doctor brought each other something caffeinated late at night and sat for an hour or two to talk? How often had the doctor torn him away from work after hours, simply to check in and make sure he was alright? What would he think now?
A bittersweet smile tugs at the corner of the performer’s tightly pressed lips at the thought, gaze lingering on the simple white coffee mug as he steps back towards the doorway in defeat. What’s the use of taking care of himself now anyways? It’s only a matter of time.
Silver Shepherd went first.
Ed wasn’t long after.
Then it was King.
Now the doctor.
The office door creaks silently behind Bim, and when he tears his gaze from the polished wood he finally spots a shadowed figure at the end of the hallway. Simply...watching. It’s all he can do to manage a weak fake smile for the manipulative ego as he turns his back on Dark’s...surprisingly sympathetic expression in favour of shutting himself away in the studio.
It’s only a matter of time.