Work Text:
"... Gross..."
John stared distantly at the mess of his room. Trash lined the space wall to wall, dirty clothes replaced the carpet, and the dishes he never took back molded over with whatever food he got too nauseous to finish. How did he let it get so bad?
The more he sulked in the filth the worse he felt. Why was it so hard to just get out of bed?
His eyes drift to his latest painting. Unfinished. A heavy weight cemented in his chest. He hasn't worked on it in... how long has he been in bed? When was the last time he got up?
A sudden wave of weakness flooded over him. When was the last time he ate?
He desperately wiped at his tired eyes, still red and puffy from whatever triggered a breakdown last... whenever he fell asleep. His apartment remained so overwhelmingly quiet he could hear the faint hum of electricity running in his kitchen from a room over.
He drew a shaky breath as the silence forced him to conjure thoughts he didn't want to think about. Whispers of all the ways he's terrible filled his head; how he's useless, worthless, unlovable.
He tossed and turned, begging for the strength to get out of bed to distract himself with just anything, but he received nothing. He remained in the spot he'd laid in for so long the mattress had deformed. He was left to bask in his thoughts. Why does he love to torture himself like this?
His heart ached for nothing more than to have someone to talk to. It ached so hard it burned and he knew he wasn't begging for just anyone's attention - he needed Smii7y. He needed to be with him so bad it was physically taxing.
He's never felt this much want in his life. It was entirely suffocating.
This ridiculous pining has been destroying his life; he doesn't do what he needs and doesn't do what he likes. He's a completely embarrassing mess because of a crush on his best friend.
John snickered to himself at the word choice.
His best friend. A straight guy. The nicest man he's ever met. He's never clicked with someone more. Why did it have to be him? It kills him to not talk to him but it kills him even more to talk to him. The way he’s so perfect, in every way, pools guilt in his stomach for thinking he could be enough for him. He was granted the ability to just be close with him, why did he have to push it? Why couldn’t he settle with being friends?
Ever persistent, his incessant love refused to yield to logic. He was forced to simmer in it. Alone.
He ghosted everyone because he can’t handle the way he feels for someone who’s supposed to be nothing more than a friend. God, why does he have to be like this?
He thought of Smii7y for the next few hours. A few times, he actually thought to message him, or anyone, but he'd remember that the phone that laid on his bedside table has been dead for at least a week at this point and lose all confidence; it was too much commitment to find the cord, plug his phone in, wait for it to turn on... God he’s so lazy he can't even plug his phone in. What is he even doing?
The more he berated himself the less he felt like doing anything. He was meaningless, insignificant, undeserving…
He was nothing.
And he fell in love with the sun.
He couldn't tell what time it was, maybe early morning, but he passed out. Maybe for escapism from his thoughts, maybe it was exhaustion from crying, maybe from the myriad of other problems he caused for himself, but whatever it was it followed the same pattern as all the days that came before it: wake up, rot in bed, pine away, cry, repeat. He hardly left his bed for anything.
And it was getting so, so tiring.
***
An hour or so later, he woke up again. He thought about his routine. His cycle. Wake up, rot in bed, pine away, cry, repeat.
Over.
And.
Over.
...
There wasn't going to be any "coming out of" this. He stared dully at his bedroom ceiling. Even if his phone was charged, or he cared enough to get to his computer, talking to anyone would eventually mean talking of or, god-forbid, to Smii7y, and he's not ready for that. He can't ever be ready for that. There's no one to help him. God, there was no getting out of this.
If he's completely stuck, why is he keeping himself alive at all?
The thought made all of his others - his feelings for Smii7y, his filthy room, his self-loathing, etc. - pause for a moment. What was he keeping himself alive for anymore? He can't do the things he loves, he's too scared to talk to the people he loves, and he hates himself too much to talk to the one person that's always been there for him. There's no one to push him to do anything. To love himself.
He used to have his friends to help him, but now he's ghosted them all without an explanation and he's too scared to come back. He's so, so alone.
God he missed Smii7y so much. But now he can't have him, in any sense of the word. What was he living for?
Life before Smii7y definitely wasn't spectacular or anything, but he could live for himself. When he met Smii7y, he got a taste of something he didn't know he absolutely needed in life, and he got addicted. He was like a drug; one John could never get enough of. He tried to quit him and now it's killing him from the inside out.
He's so bored without him, but he's tormented with him. There's nothing for him to do now.
What was he living for?
...
He attempted to force himself to sleep with that thought. He's been thinking for too long.
***
When he woke up, it was on his mind again; What am I living for?, over and over.
He glanced at his phone, a film of dust blanketed it from disuse. He wondered how many people were trying to reach him, and how many gave up.
Some parts of him hoped Smii7y gave up, and others couldn't bear the thought. It panged him to believe Smii7y didn't at least care about him, but twisted parts of him also feasted on the notion. He let the idea upset him, destroy him. He wasn't sure why.
Maybe it was because, if Smii7y stopped caring enough to futilely message him, it could mean that he moved on from thinking about him, and if he left, John would never have to confess.
But that saddened him even more. The idea of Smii7y leaving him? Giving up on him? That made him sick to his stomach.
Maybe he just liked the pain. Maybe he needed the feeling of suffering to suffocate and overpower his lovesickness. Maybe he was just a freak.
I mean, he at least cares about me though, doesn't he?
Why would he? What have I ever done for him?
Why has he stayed with me for so long, anyway?
He stopped trying a while ago. He's stopped caring. You can give up now. John convinced himself it was true.
He curled into himself again. Did he push everyone too far away? Would it be too late to come back, if he wanted to? His breath came in shudders and the guilt of forcing everyone out of his life hit him like a freight train. He's done this all to himself.
A wall of awful thoughts filled his head. Not all of them truly felt like his but they behaved all the same. He can't take this much longer.
What if I just give up?
...
Just give... up?
Yeah. Just... give up.
The idea stewed in his head. Longer than any previous thoughts to severely hurt himself have. Like he was truly considering it. It was all he could think about. Just give up.
Smii7y is all he wants. If he can't have him, not even at all... well, what's the point of it all anymore?
He obviously can't do a thing without him. He's basically dead already with how little he's done these past couple weeks. The only difference between his current situation and actually being dead was John's brain activity.
If he... then he wouldn't...
Am I really thinking of killing myself because of this? A small voice of reason made him question. Or maybe it was degrading him again; teasing him for thinking of committing suicide because he fell in love and couldn't handle it.
Either way, he defended himself against it, went over all the reasons why it wouldn't matter, why it could be for the better, why it was his only solution, because truly, what was he living for?
A few thoughts began to repeat themselves in his mind. He looked at his dusty phone. Why has he been keeping himself alive?
He sat upright and shifted to the side of his bed. His feet planted onto the soft padding his clothes made on the floor. What am I living for?
He slowly stood upright. His first time in... he couldn't even remember, all he knew was his bed and the cesspool he created. His legs wobbled from his inactivity and the uneven ground. What's the point anymore?
He made his way through his messy apartment to the kitchen. The air was particularly stale. I can just give up.
He dragged himself to a drawer. His body felt heavy, like gravity was pushing down harder on him, specifically. He opened the drawer and observed its contents absentmindedly. He wasn't in control of himself anymore; his actions or his thoughts. He was merely a spectator. Just give up.
His hand glided over the knives, mundanely picking one as if he was just deciding what to cut his dinner steak with. Just give up.
He eyed the knife his body chose, sizing it up. He felt numb. Like he wasn't even there. Just give up.
He didn't know where he should cut. Anyplace should do fine if he does it enough. I'll just give up.
He examined his faintly scarred wrist fondly before supinating to expose his forearm. I'll just give up.
The knife hovered over his skin. This was gonna hurt, wasn't it? He snickered at himself, Of course it will, you're stabbing yourself to death! He shrugged it all off like he was teasing a friend for stating the obvious.
I'll just give up.
A knock rasped at his door. It alarmed him, but he didn't back down.
I'll just give up.
He sliced with fast movement. He chose one with a rigid edge, a knife he doesn't use often, guaranteed to still be sharp. Red blood spewed from the cut and reinvigorated him, making him able to feel his body again. A weird sense of satisfaction. He released a breath he didn't know he was holding. He was letting go.
I'll just give up.
He's only getting started. He cut again. And again. And again.
I'll just give up.
John felt woozy, which easily could have been from the blood but he also knows he hasn't eaten in days. Another knock echoes, but he doesn't hear it this time. He slices, and cuts, and slices, and cuts. In his frenzy, he overlaps and sloppily switches directions. Anything to do more.
I'll just give up.
It's not enough. He just needs to cut a little deeper. He placed the knife against his wrist once more, lining the blade's trajectory to cut right through the veins he could see through his skin - or, at least, he would, had there not been oodles of blood covering it from view currently. Surely, this should be enough.
I'll just give up.
He pressed down. The bleed from the incision began to prick. He took a deep breath, mustered up his strength, and slashed harshly before he could think better of his decision.
.
.
.
He stared vacantly at the gash. It gushed out blood relentlessly and John truly began to dizzy. He heard that knock again. Neighbors came to complain of the smell from time to time, but when John had stopped answering they had stopped knocking. So normally, he would ignore it, but something let him slide.
He made his way to the door. He held his wounded arm out away from him to avoid contact with it, the remains of his self preservation still somewhat guiding his actions. The blood dripped down his fingers and onto the ground, leaving a faint trail in his wake.
His free hand gripped the doorknob and quietly cracked it open ever-so-slightly.
Time seemed to slow. His heart dropped and he felt butterflies in his stomach like a dumb love-struck teenager. Maybe he was having hallucinations from all the blood loss.
Still, he opened the door wider. He let it swing until it hit the wall. The noise finally alerted the man at his door, who'd been nervously chewing his nails and anxiously looking around at anything else in the hall.
They stared wildly at each other. Smii7y's shoulders relaxed, his eyes softened, and he enveloped the older man in a tight hug, releasing a heavy sigh of relief into John's neck. The American stood still, eyes still wide in disbelief.
"Dude, what happened to you? You wouldn't answer my texts, nobody's heard from you in a month... I thought you died or something!" Smii7y chided, attempting to mask his genuine concern with a playful overlay.
Still clinging, he continues, "Why'd you take so long to answer the door? I thought I got the wrong room or something... man, I basically had to doxx you to find where you lived!" He laughed, but his grip tightened. "Why'd you ghost everyone like that? We were all worried sick..." The distress in Smii7y's voice, despite trying to cover it up with a lighthearted attitude, broke John to bits.
"I... I uh..." John fumbled with words, stuttering, not knowing what to say. He realized just how dry his throat was, and his voice was soft and quiet from the general lack of talking for the last 30+ days. Tears threatened to burst as reality slowly began to set in. He was losing his ability to hold back.
Smii7y let go to examine him while he struggled to form an excuse. The bright red blood wasn't hard to spot now that he wasn't tunnel-visioned.
"Holy fuck, John, you're bleeding! What the hell happened?" He grabbed his arm carefully, fresh blood still seeping through and now staining Smii7y's hands.
"I... I..." Smii7y seemed to finally bring him to reality, he regained control of his body and tremors shot through his whole system. Fuck, what did he do? What the fuck was he about to do? God, he almost... he almost...
"Jesus, John, we have to get you to a doctor!" Smii7y chewed his lip before sprinting into the uncared-for living space, beelining to the kitchen.
John stood in place as he stared at his shaking, bleeding arm. His vision blurred from the tears in his eyes and his sight began to fade out. His breaths came out shuddered and uneven as he heard Smii7y desperately opening random drawers. He heard the faucet run. Is he going to die?
He felt as if the very air around him was crushing him, squeezing his lungs... he couldn't breathe. What was he thinking? What the fuck did he do?
"I don't know how to actually clean wounds, but we have to apply pressure, right?" Smii7y rushed his words, talking more to himself out loud than genuinely asking as he came back with a damp towel. John could hardly hear him over the ringing in his ears.
He gingerly placed his free hand under John's bleeding arm to provide it a place to rest and tried to soak up as much blood as possible before wrapping it as tight as he could. "We have to call an ambulance or something... John, do you need to sit down? You should probably sit down, c'mon-"
Before Smii7y could guide John to his couch, he collapsed to the floor.
Fading from consciousness, he hears Smii7y panic.
"I'm sorry," John tried to call out, but he's not sure if he truly did. "I'm so sorry man. I love you."
***
When John awakened again, he expected to be in his bed. For the vague memory of the night before to have been a dream.
But instead, his eyes opened to soft moody lights and a tiled ceiling he didn't recognize. He looked around and registered that he must be in a hospital. He looked to his side and felt his face begin to heat. He found Smii7y slumped over in a rather uncomfortable-looking chair, passed out.
He went to move his arm, to reach out to him, but he retreated when he felt a sharp pain. He looked down to examine the cause and he saw himself wrapped in a clean bandage, a steady dull ache emitting from it. He furrowed his brows in confusion.
He attempted to wet his dry lips before calling out:
"Smii7y?" His voice came out hardly above a whisper and his throat felt hoarse.
The man stirred but didn't wake. John took the time to think over the recent events.
Why? Why would Smii7y travel all the way from Canada, just to know if John was okay? God, Smii7y, I don't deserve you.
He stared at the sleeping figure a while longer; admiring the soft rise and fall of his chest. He noticed eye bags and felt a terrible pang of guilt - was that because of him? Did he worry him so much that he lost sleep over it?
The feeling simmered deep in his gut. "I'm so fucking sorry, dude," he croaked out. Smii7y's eyes remained shut.
He looked like he needed the rest, and John was more than willing to let him have it. After a while of listening to the soothing sound of Smii7y breathing gently, he found himself dozing off, too.
***
The first thing John’s body wanted to do, before even opening his eyes, was to know if Smii7y was there.
"Smii7y?" He croaked, his throat still as dry as the last time he tried to use his voice.
"John?" Smii7y replied back, unsure if he truly heard the man. He examined the seemingly still sleeping figure with desperation.
John slowly opened his eyes to be met with the Canadian bending over his bed. He flushed, not expecting the sight. "Hey, man." He greeted casually with his usual relaxed demeanor.
"Oh thank God, John!" Smii7y cried, the tension in his body visibly releasing. "I was so worried, dude. Fuck, John..." he exhaled, his grin was ever-widening and John could see tears well in is eyes. "You scared me to death, you dick!"
John let out a small laugh and looked off to his side. "Sorry 'bout that," he replied sheepishly. The room was hardly lit as the sun had yet to peak from the mountains.
John's eyes widened and he felt his heart beat faster as warm arms wrap around him. "Smii-?"
"I thought you were going to die. I don’t even... I don't know what I would've done.” Smii7y sniffled. “Why did you do that, John?"
John felt that crippling guilt again, so bad it made him choke. "I..."
It was the only solution.
Smii7y squeezed tighter.
All John could do was hug him back. He felt his own tears begin to prick. What was he thinking?
They stayed like that for a good while, trying to communicate what they couldn't say aloud. The sun finally began to rise and beam low natural light into the room before they broke apart.
Smii7y pulled away, staring intensely into John's eyes, searching, searching. Their faces remained merely inches apart. Smii7y only drew closer, hoping to find the answer. The way Smii7y stared so intently…
The beeping from John's monitor increased rapidly, drawing Smii7y in and away from trying to decipher John.
"Holy shit, John!" Smii7y exclaimed, alarmed. "Should I call a nurse? Your heart beat is going crazy!" He asked, oblivious.
John blushed harder at the attention. "No I- I'm fine. Seriously." He glanced elsewhere and attempted to calm himself down.
Smii7y stared at him with concern as the beeping slowly reverted to a normal pace. John bit his lips as he chewed on his thoughts.
Still avoiding direct eye contact, John began to ask a question.
"Why’d you do that?"
Smii7y tilted his head. "What do you mean?"
"Why'd you... come all this way? For me?"
That only seemed to puzzle the man more. "Why wouldn't I?"
"Its not like- [cough] it's not like we live close to each other. Why did you come so far?"
"I couldn't get a hold of you. I… had to make sure you were okay." Smii7y stated, like it was obvious. Like it was simple. Like it didn't make John burn from the inside out.
"Are you okay, John?" Smii7y asked.
"Well I'm- [cough]- I'm in a hospital," John joked, teasing Smii7y.
Smii7y rolled his eyes and chuckled breathily. "That's not what I meant. I mean, mentally, are you okay? What happened?"
"Uh- I'm, I'm fine. I just…"
"John, you know you can tell me anything. Seriously. Anything. I want to help you, man."
"There's nothing's wrong, I just..." He attempted to look Smii7y in the eye, but the way he looked at him forced him to look away again.
"John." Smii7y asserted, encasing the American's injured hand with his own with so much care it made John melt. "Please. I really don’t know what I would do without you. Tell me what’s been going on. I'm here for you, John. No matter what. Whatever is happening, we can get through it. Together." He tightened his grip, solidifying his promise.
John felt heavy. He attempted to retain eye contact and swallowed thickly. What do I tell him? That I fell in love with him so hard I tried to kill myself over it?
"No, dude, this isn't... You can’t help me."
"Try me."
John made a sound between a chuckle and a scoff and shook his head.
“John. Seriously. Anything at all. I can handle it. Just tell me what's on your mind.”
John’s heart swelled. I love you.
“It’s really dumb. I don’t even know how I let it get to me this bad.”
“John.”
He stirred in the silence before sighing in defeat. “I just… I fell in love with someone who doesn’t love me back. I didn’t…”
“Whaaat? Seriously?”
“I told you it was dumb-”
“No, John, I didn’t mean it like that, I meant… Who wouldn’t love you back?” John furrowed his brows and locked onto Smii7y, a strange feeling inside him beginning to bloom. “I mean, you’re talented, you’re funny," Smii7y chuckled before saying, "you’re definitely attractive… She’s completely missing out, dude.”
John blinked wildly, dumbfounded. Smii7y continued. “I think you might have dodged a bullet. She’s got to have something wrong with her. I mean, c’mon, why wouldn’t she want to go out with you? What did she say?”
“... She… I never asked her out.”
“What? John! Then how do you know she doesn’t like you back?”
“Because, dude, she…“ John didn’t know how to continue. “It’s not… a girl.”
“Oh… Well, my point still stands. You’re amazing. Why wouldn’t he like you back?”
John shook his head. “‘Cuz, man, he’s straight.”
After a pause, Smii7y snickered.
“What?”
“Nothing, its just... if any straight guy were to make an exception, it would be for you, dude.”
“...What makes you think that?”
“‘Cuz, man, you’re like… the Ryan Reynolds of YouTubers. Not to mention you’re just fucking awesome. Everyone makes exceptions, bro.”
“...would you?” Left John’s mouth before he could realize what he was asking.
Smii7y cocked his brow. “Would I what?”
“Make an exception?”
“Uh, well I mean…” Smii7y blushed, eyes darting all over the place.
John felt guilty for asking the question. What is he even supposed to say here? Why did I ask that? I trapped him in a corner. God, dude, I’m such an idiot.
“You don’t- [cough] you don’t have to answer that, it was a weird question.”
“No, no, it’s just- Yeah.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I would make an exception. If I really liked him, it wouldn’t matter to me.” He answered vaguely. “I think it would really depend on who it was. So who are you crushing on, John?”
John spurred. “Uh… ’s, uh…”
“C’mon man, I won’t tell anyone. I wanna help you out, dude!”
“...Tell me who your exception would be first.”
“What?”
“I want to know.”
“Hey I asked you first!”
“Well I asked you second and I’m in the hospital, so hm. Who has the priority here? Now tell me.”
“I-I don’t know who my exception would be.” Again, he glanced elsewhere.
“Then I don’t know who I’m in love with.”
“What! Johnnnnn! That doesn’t even make sense!”
“Yes it does, it's called amnesia, idiot. I have a strange feeling that I’ll remember when you tell me who your exception would be, though. Very weird.”
Smii7y glared at John, face reddening, before answering, “...Fine, dude. If I… had to date a guy, it would… probably be you.” he muttered, shying away.
“Seriously?”
“I said ‘if’!” He defended. “We just get along so well, I don’t know. Hypothetically, I’d choose you.”
John laid in silence with a vacant stare. What?
Still a blushing mess, Smii7y turned the subject back on John. “Hey, we had a deal! Who are you in love with?”
Could he actually have a chance?
“John?”
Was he being serious?
"Joooooohn!"
Or did he only say that because he almost killed himself?
“John, c'mon, quit stalling! I wanna know! You're killing me with anticipation here.”
Was it flattery or honesty?
“John! Hey, quit looking at me like that. I said if. Is it, like, really embarrassing? I won’t judge, bro!”
John swallowed dryly. “If I tell you, will you promise to not walk out of here?”
“Jeez, man, is it really that bad?”
“I’m being- [cough] serious, dude!”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I promise.”
“I…” His throat felt like it was closing. “I’m…”
He muttered his confession, too quiet to be picked up.
“Huh?”
“I said I’m in love with you, dumbass!”
...
Smii7y didn’t reply, dumbstruck.
“You’re fucking amazing. You’re funny, you’re caring, you’re so fucking effortless- I feel so - so right when I’m with you, like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be or some shit. And you’re always there for me - hell, you came all the way from fuckin’ Canada, just to know how I was doing! Who does that?”
“You’re so fucking good at the things you do and we get along so easily … I don’t even understand it, dude.”
At Smii7y’s stunned silence, John began to feel a sinking anxiety within him. “I’m sorry, this really fucks everything up, doesn’t it?... Fuck, I’m sorry, forget I said anything- or just like… I don’t know. Fuck. ”
“Wait, wait, wait, hold on-”
“I’m sorry, dude. I really didn’t want to screw up our friendship. That’s why I ghosted everyone! I couldn’t handle it anymore, so I thought, if I just didn’t talk to you, I’d stop feeling this way, or something, but it only made things worse. I felt stuck. At that point, I thought it’d be better if I’d just- If I’d just-”
“John! Let me get a word in. I… I like you too.”
“No, you don’t, you’re just saying that because what else are you supposed to say when your friend tries to kill himself. You don’t have to say you like me back because it’s what you think I want to hear. I don’t want to force you into a relationship. I want to see you happy, dude.”
“John, I’m not just saying it to make you feel better - I really do love you. Stop looking at me like that! I’m being serious. I never thought I had a chance with you, man. I never said anything because I was too scared to risk losing what we had. You mean everything to me.”
Smii7y looked at John’s bandages, caressing injured arm. “I’ve never felt this way towards someone before. That feeling you described? How it just feels right to be with you? I’ve never been able to put it into words, but that is exactly the way I feel when I'm around you. Like nothing else matters. Like I'm complete, or some shit... John, I’m deeply in love with you.”
Now it was John's turn to be dumbfounded. Does he really mean all of that?
“...Prove it.”
“Wh- Huh?”
”I said prove it.”
“How???”
John merely responded with kissy noises.
Smii7y scoffed. “You’re unbelievable,” he remarked, shaking his head.
It was the single best kiss John ever had. It was soft, but full of emotion, bringing finalized validity to the words they spoke, leaving no room for doubt. An unmistakable flutter settled in his stomach. He’d crave for this for so long and it felt so right to finally have it. He savored every last moment of it.
When they eventually broke apart, John could still feel a tingle on his lips, as if it were his first.
“Was that enough proof for you?”
“That was gay as fuck, Smii7y.”
John snickered as the other stuttered. “I want another one.”
“Eh- …You’re a little bitch, you know that, John?”
John only giggled.