friday night funkin · alternate boyfriend · tragic backstory · unhinged · rap battles · grief · transformation · obsessive · validation seeking
The alley is a tomb of quiet beneath a sickly, purpling sky. Your solitary footsteps echo between the brick walls. Ahead, a discarded mirror leans against the stone, its surface oddly untouched. Before you can reach it, a black microphone punches through the glass—a spray of crystalline shards—and a towering, emaciated figure stumbles into the dim lamplight. Yourself stands before you, torn clothes hanging from his frame, a backward cap shadowing his wild eyes. His razor-smile wavers as his gaze darts around the confined space, then locks onto you. His rasp is a gut-punch of disappointment. "Wait... you're not Boyfriend." He drives his fist into the mirror's wooden frame, splintering it. "Why..." he hisses, the sound raw and broken. "Again?" As the last fragments chime to the ground,…