Work Text:
Moonlight peeked through the blinds casting abstract shadows across the short expanse of the room. A lone figure sat unmoving amidst the rumpled sheets of the bed. It was the early hours of the morning and the room’s occupant was suffering yet another sleepless night.
He stared blankly at the wall, trying his hardest not to give in to the sinister urges of depression. He was quickly losing the battle. Anger, hurt, defeat and loneliness twisted into a tight knot of emotions, which completely consumed him. He knew he shouldn’t let it get to him like this, but the feelings had been bottled up for quite some time and tonight they were unbearable. He wanted nothing more than to escape. But he couldn’t figure out how.
The pain wouldn’t go away no matter what he did. Alcohol, sleeping pills, and smoking—none of the usual helped. His mind refused to stop ruminating, to let go of his frustrations. The inability to control his emotions made him feel weak and he hated that. Without removing his gaze from the moonlit wall he crossed his arms over his bare chest, hugging himself, digging his nails into his skin so he could feel the pain. It didn’t distract him from his thoughts.
Someone he loved had hurt him. Over the course of his short life he had only let two people get close to him. Everyone else he kept at arms length, so the betrayal had hit him hard. He’d become so dependent on this person and now they were gone. He didn’t know how to cope. He didn’t want to.
I am so weak… I am not worth anyone’s time. Why am I here? I just want the pain to go away…
The greedy fingers of depression gripped at his being, tugging him this way and that, pushing every happy memory he’d had with this person to the dark corners of his mind so that all he would focus on was the betrayal. Blinded, he frowned and unfolded his arms, gripping the cold bed sheets below him. He wasn’t thinking straight, he knew it, but he had lost control. Depression had taken the wheel and he was a passive passenger.
It’s too late. I don’t want to do this anymore. I hate what I’ve become.
He had given this person everything—his heart, his body, everything. He’d been fiercely loyal and for what? Now he was questioning if he’d ever meant anything to them. Had this been a one sided love? Those deep blue eyes haunted him. They were there every time he closed his eyes, mocking him.
He felt like a fool. He was alone.
Unable to stop the flow of negative thoughts he reached under the mattress to pull something out. The silver, intricately engraved siding on the otherwise dull looking Glock flashed in the moonlight as his finger flipped the safety off. He knew it was loaded.
He found himself looking down at the gun for the third night in a row. The idea of permanently ending the pain had emerged in his mind before, but he was never able to carry it out. Tonight felt different.
No one will miss me anyway, so what am I waiting for? He’s not coming back.
The tip of the barrel felt cold against his temple. He held it there with his finger ghosting over the trigger. Was he really going to do this? There was no one holding him back. The pain wasn’t going to go away, was it? This would be easy, quick…
He closed his eyes, shutting out the world as he remembered the sensation of familiar lips pressed against his own, of a body he had worshiped as it moved against him. He remembered what it felt like to be wanted, over and over again.
And then he remembered what it felt like to have a knife shoved through his chest, slicing his heart to pieces. No. He couldn’t do this anymore.
He let his finger rest on the trigger and slowly started to squeeze. The racing of his heartbeat canceled out all other noises including the footsteps entering the front of his apartment, making their way slowly to the bedroom.
The world had never been kind to Trowa Barton.
The sound of a single gunshot rang loudly through the small apartment causing the intruder to stop in his tracks, startled.
No…
Heero suddenly quickened his pace. He pushed the bedroom door open and felt his stomach fall to the floor. His heart clenched in his chest and he helplessly dropped his hands to his sides. He was too late. His ex-lover was crumpled on top of the sheets, his fingers still wrapped around the gun. He could make out the blood despite the darkness.
Trowa, I’m so sorry…