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Simon pressed the cold barrel of the handgun to his lips; the only kiss he'd ever given in his entire life.
Parting his lips slightly, Simon slotted the gun against the roof of his mouth. It fit perfectly, as if it was meant for this.
He screwed his eyes shut, letting his tears and snot run down the gun's side.
Then he pulled the trigger.
He pulled the trigger; the only good decision he'd made in his entire life.
Click.
Sniffling, Simon cracked open an eye.
Huh?
The gun was still pressed against the roof of his mouth, and he was still here, crying like a little bitch.
Simon frantically pressed the trigger again, only being rewarded with a small click.
Was he not good enough even for death?
Click, click, click.
He pulled the trigger countless times, his head in a spinning daze. Why wasn't he dead?
Simon removed the gun from his mouth, inspecting it with teary eyes.
Oh.
The mag was empty.
The mag was empty.
His eyes widened.
He'd never removed the ammo.
He'd never removed the ammo, meaning someone else removed it.
Someone had taken away his only escape.
Someone else knew that he was going to kill himself.
"Fuck!" Simon cried, slamming the gun on the floor.
"No no no no no no," He sobbed between hiccups, repeating himself over and over.
He was so useless.
He was so fucking stupid.
He was such a fucking coward.
He couldn't even kill himself properly, what kind of a man was he?
Simon stood quickly, wobbling himself over to his nightstand.
His hand ripped the drawer open, carelessly tossing old papers and pens to the side.
Where were they?
They were here somewhere.
They had to be.
Simon grabbed the side of the desk and pulled it sharply.
It fell over, the lamp on top of it giving out and shattering against the floor loudly.
Now he was left to wallow in darkness.
His razors were gone.
The razors he'd ever so carefully removed from countless handheld pencil sharpeners, not buying 'real' razors in-case someone got suspicious.
He'd been so cautious, so careful about telling people he'd gotten better.
Simon sobbed violently, curling himself into a ball on the floor.
He screamed until his voice went hoarse, his hoodie sleeve soaked from snot and tears.
A faint voice sounded.
There it was. Now he was hearing shit.
He wasn't crying anymore. His body wanted to, but he had no more tears left in him to spend.
A soft hand landed on his shoulder.
Simon didn't have enough energy to be scared. He didn't jump. He didn't even turn around.
He was probably imagining things again.
Then he heard it.
David's voice.
Simon almost didn't recognize it; it was so soft and tender.
It made him want to cry again.
"Oh, Simon..." David gently brought Simon onto his lap, hugging the smaller man and pressing countless kisses all over his face.
A kiss was pressed to his cheek, his forehead, his nose, his light stubble, his tear lines, everywhere he could think of.
David's enveloping scent and kisses made Simon burst out in tears again.
"It's okay," David kissed the top of Simon's head over and over, holding onto him as if it would be the last time he'd ever see him.
Simon was almost ashamed.
Almost ashamed that David had to see him like this, at his lowest.
The two men stayed wrapped in each other's arms for a long while, time seeming to fly by.
"'M sorry," Simon slurred, his voice bleary from exhaustion.
David rubbed circles into his back, Simon relaxing against the touch.
"You don't need to apologize, Si..."
David gently scooted away from Simon, helping the other man stand.
Allowing Simon to lean his weight on him, David helped Simon over to his bed, watching as Simon crumbled onto the twin sized mattress.
"You should get some sleep," David brushed Simon's bangs from his face, leaving a small kiss on his forehead.
"Stay?" Simon held onto David's arm and looked up at him with teary eyes. "Please?"
David smiled, "Of course."
Simon leaned towards David and pressed his lips against the older man's; the second kiss he'd ever given in his entire life.
But Simon found that he greatly preferred David's lips over those of a gun's.
David's lips were warm, alive, and real.
They made him feel real.
Something he could've never found in death.