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Alfred was a nice enough person. He greeted people he didn’t know in the street, he held the door open for anyone that happened to be passing, and most importantly he was there for people. He listened, he offered advice, he was patient.
He had hobbies, he played the guitar, he cooked, he could name every character from every movie he’d ever seen.
He had family, he had friends, he had someone. That special someone. Ivan Braginsky. Oh how Alfred loved Ivan. More than he loved himself, or anyone else in his life. There was Arthur, too, his dad. His dad who used to sit with him in the darkness when he was too scared to look for the light.
He had everything, he had support, so why did he feel like this? Why did he feel so awful all the time? Even in those small chunks of time where things seemed good, it was always there: lurking, waiting, beckoning, convincing. An escape?
“Alfred?”
He answered on the fourth ring. Unusual, Alfred was usually eager to talk to his boyfriend.
“Sup, dude?”
He could act fine just this once, right? No more feeling sorry for himself, this time he had to be strong. He had to just sound normal.
“Are you okay? I haven’t heard from you all day.”
“Yeah, I’m fine! No need to worry about me!”
Sometimes he hated how convincing he sounded. He wished Ivan could see through it, to ask if he’s okay and save him just in time. Wouldn’t that be nice?
“Good, I thought you were dead.”
Ivan huffed out a small laugh over the phone at his own joke, blissfully unaware.
“How ‘bout that…”
Alfred laughed as well, but there was no humour there at all. The only thing amusing here was Ivan’s incredible intuition, he supposed.
“I’m going to go now, I have…stuff to do.”
“Okay, I love you Al’”
..
“I love you too, Ivan. Never forget that.”
Alfred hung up the phone with a click, staring at the wall. His brain made out shapes in the darkness, he saw meaningless things, circles and ovals that morphed into distinct hallucinations.
He supposed that meant it was working. He could feel the sticky blood, it was everywhere. He could taste it. Had some got in his mouth? or was the metallic smell just that prominent?
The longer he lay there, the more he was starting to feel guilty for this. He had no value for his own life, but he thought more about those around him. What would his dads say? What would his brother say? What would Ivan say? He had a strong feeling he wouldn’t be around to hear that, so he guessed he’d never know.
Ivan would probably cry. He’d say something sweet, like he always does, he’d hope, he was always so optimistic about everything. Alfred didn’t understand, how can you be so happy when your world is burning down around you?
He didn’t think he could have prevented it if he tried. The blade was practically calling his name, taunting him every time he was in a bad mood. He was impulsive, but also struggling. He’d been struggling, he would be struggling, it felt like there was no way out.
It felt like the light at the end of the tunnel, but it was harsh and artificial. Alfred wondered if having that light was better than waiting for the sun to rise again after an eternal darkness.
A text from Arthur came through, Alfred didn’t blink as he stared at his blinding phone screen.
| @ArthurKirkland: Are you alright, Alfred?
| it’s not often I don’t receive any messages from you.
He stared at the screen. The light burned his already wet eyes. He could feel himself getting lightheaded, and he was ready to slip into his forever sleep.
| @TheHero: love u dad
| tel Matthe anddad tht I love them
| @ArthurKirkland: ??