"What do you want!?" It was something Jonathan barked at Sock once. He was clearly annoyed by Socks happy demeanor. He was clearly annoyed by anybody's happy demeanor. Jonathan wasn't much for a happy go lucky demeanor anyway. Probably because he kept his slice of the world drowned in apathy and kept himself disillusioned with humanity. Mostly because of these habits nothing irked him. But when something did irk him it felt like a tiny stabbing intrusion of unsettling feelings.
Sock as aforementioned was something that irked him. What was it about him that did that? It was hard to pin down. Maybe it was his unusual style, with ripped jeans and a skirt, or maybe his dark jokes about novel ways to die. Could it be his clothing item name? Possibly his forever gushing torso wound? There were a litany of things about Sock that made him stand out like a sore thumb and nagged at Jonathan. He tried not to care.
Yet still somewhere in the far reaches of his mind. Tucked behind Valhalla sound box songs on mental repeat and thoughts of school subjects, Sock dug a hole into his conscience, cementing himself in Jonathan's mind. Jonathan filled that hole with questions about Sock that trailed into the distance and careful studies of Socks form that made him wonder why he cared.
"What do you want?!" He'd asked Sock once, his tone, bold, brazen and mostly miffed. It was obvious what Sock wanted. Sock wanted his measured demise. He wanted Jonathan's perfect death. Sock wanted iron scented air and pulseless people. Wanted blood under his nails, cold blades against his hands. That's what Sock wanted. But it wasn't what Jonathan wanted. So he'd asked himself "What do I want?"
He wanted soft hair and yellow goggles waking him in the morning. He wanted the annoying sting of crazy antics and unphasing suggestions of impossible death scenarios. He wanted that thorn in his side of a giddy voice. He wanted peculiarly worn scarves tied like a tie, and floating bodies that pooched forward cutely. He wanted someone he could scorn at and pretend to be grumpy over. He secretly wanted Sock… and he wouldn't admit it.