Trigger Warning: suicidal thoughts and tendencies (mental illness included) and more. This chapter is extremely real and severe. I am writing directly from experience when describing his thought process/es. Please, do not read this if you are susceptible to any kind of harm, self-harm, relapsing, etc. If it isn't safe or a good idea for you to read this, please, don't, I understand. I care about you, and you're worth a lot more than this crappy one-shot. And if you ever need any support, you can message my main Instagram, and/or please call a hotline (I'm not a professional). Thank you.

Ship: N/A
Character: Keith
Age: 19
Type: Angst

Keith growled, choking back tears. He scrambled around in the bathroom, screaming in his head at himself, Where is it?!

Keith sobbed and slammed his hands down on the bathroom counter. He refused to look up into the mirror, so he stared at his dirty bathroom sink. He let his tears drip from his cheeks and into the sink before they could touch his chin.

Suddenly, Keith stumbled over to his bathtub and pushed his shampoo bottle over. He picked up what he was looking for and eagerly sat on the toilet seat.

He pulled his fingers down his skin once, and then traced the same movement with the silver object. Nico seethed, but sighed. He did it again, and again, until he'd have to wash out the stains on his bathroom tiles.

He sighed one last time when he was finished. He felt like crying, but didn't. He just focused on his wrists. He focused on the pain he made there. He focused on the cuts and the thought of the scabs and scars he'll have to hide forever after this. He thought about his imaginary boyfriend, a guy he daydreams about but knows he'll never be loved like that in real life, and made up a scene that comforts him. And then he cries because it isn't real.

But Keith tried not to care. Forever won't be too long after this anyway, Keith thought. Forever is only until I die...

Keith sighed and crawled out of the bathroom and into his bed. Then he realized he was still bleeding and he realized how weak and pathetic and possibly dizzy he felt. So he slumped back into the bathroom to clean the canvas of his wrists.

Tomorrow is going to be a long day, but tonight will be longer... he thought. He pulled at strings of his hair and growled to himself. He couldn't stand himself. He just took a shower earlier but he feels so icky, so dirty, so gross, so hideous. He can't fix up his hair or wash his face enough to give it any meaning, or any real beauty. Nothing is going to fix this, and won't Keith realized that "this" mess of a face had screwed his life over, he gave up anyway.

Because if you don't have love to begin with, and you realize you're not enough to get any love, what is the point in existing? To love? So unfair.

As Keith laid there, he couldn't help but think of all the ways he could end this. All the times he was too chicken to try. All the times he cried because he so despatately wanted to but couldn't. No one stopped him but himself. What a pathetic little b*tch. He tears himself down enough to want to kill himself, but tears him down so much he doesn't think he could even handle that. How ironic. Thanks, universe.

Keith flipped over in his bed. Don't cry, you're not this emotional during the day, Kogane. Keith shoved his face into his pillow and shrieked.

How are you to rid yourself of these emotions? The chaos, the cluttered thoughts and the stress in his head, he can't just... distract himself or let it go! It hurts, and no one sees, and no one cares, and he should just kill himself, kill himself... kill myself...

Keith sobbed, but very few tears came out. He threw himself off of his bed and stomped into his bedroom. He pulled at his hair and sighed, trying to calm his racing heart. How am I going to do this? I don't want to do it like this... I want to...

Keith followed his guts. He stepped to his front door, slipped on slippers, and pulled on a coat. He glanced over and stared at his apartment keys. He let out another sob and covered his mouth, looking away. He opened the door and walked out into the cold night air, let it pick at his pores and breathe through his hair like he's a blood cell in the heartbeat.

This is it. This blood cell is going to fail the heart, because he couldn't do anything but float around, taking up space. Doesn't matter if a light goes out when I die if I don't shine.

Keith stepped forward.

He's still at his front door.

He took another step.

He's in his parking space.

More steps.

Sidewalk.

More steps.

He just stepped down.

More steps.

No one's coming.

More ste-

Mom, Dad, it hurts...!