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Avery sits in his barely lit room, with only the moonlight forcing its way through the window. The glow from his computer screen is a harsh white that makes his eyes sting, but he can’t look away. He can’t focus on anything except the sound of his own heart — a frantic, punishing rhythm echoing in his ears, each beat louder than the one before.
He tries to breathe, pulling air into his lungs until they ache, then lets it out in a shaky stream. He does it again, and again, hoping the motion will steady the trembling in his hands. It doesn’t. His fingers hover over the keyboard, shaking so badly that the cursor on the screen seems to dance like a ballerina.
This can’t be how it ends. He refuses to accept it. After everything, Derek cannot go like this. He refuses to let that be the story. Especially when it should be him.
It was always supposed to be him.
If he had been smarter. If he had been faster. If he had stopped for one second — just one — to use his stupid, useless brain, maybe they wouldn’t be here, maybe none of this would’ve happened. Maybe Derek wouldn’t be sitting in his own room, alone, suffering beyond words can convey, for a cause that was never his to die for.
Avery bites down on his lip until the metallic taste of blood floods his mouth. The pain is grounding, but it’s not enough to clear his head.
Think, Avery. For once in your pathetic life, think.
He’s already tried to talk Derek out of it, but the man is stubborn — stubborn as a locked door, as a wall. There’s no moving him.
There’s no other way to end this either. They’ve exhausted every alternative. If it’s not Derek, it will be Avery himself, and who knows what would happen to the world if he’s the one to go through with it? And if not him, it will be another victim — someone just as innocent, just as cornered, forced into the same cruel situation.
There’s no way out. The thought loops in his skull, like a judge’s gavel. No way out. No way out. No way out.
He slams his fist against the desk, the vibration rattling the keyboard. The pain shoots up his arm, but it does nothing to stop the spiral. He screws his eyes shut, digging the heels of his palms into them until he sees stars.
Think. Please. Just once in your life, think. Think, think, think—
Because if he doesn’t, Derek is going to die there. In the dark. Alone. With only the glow of a screen for company. That's just… too sad of an ending for anyone. That’s not how someone like Derek should go. That's just not the way good people go out.
His friend is smart. He’s sharp in a way that doesn’t cut, quick in a way that never came easy to Avery. He’s kind, too — the kind of kindness that doesn’t announce itself, that just shows up when you need it and pretends it was nothing. He’s the kind of person who makes the world more bearable just by being in it. And—
No one wants to die alone.
Avery opens his eyes. The tears he didn’t notice before spilling over, hot against his cheeks. His vision blurs the screen into a smear of light and text, but he doesn’t wipe them away.
His fingers move before his brain catches up.
<TheMostMayo> d3rlord
<TheMostMayo> i know i can’t stop you but
<TheMostMayo> can you do one last thing for me?
The pause that follows is unbearable. Seconds stretch into tiny eternities. His breath gets caught somewhere between his chest and his throat, his heart, getting ready to burst into a tiny million pieces.
Then, the reply.
<d3rlord3> …That depends
Avery exhales, relief flooding his bones at the chance of doing anything to help the other man.
<TheMostMayo> tell me your address.
He blinks again. Once. Twice. Three times.
<d3rlord3> Avery.
Avery’s hands are shaking so badly now that he has to press his palms flat against the desk to steady them. His jaw is clenched so tight it aches, and his lip burns every time his breath catches on it.
He types back, the words coming out in a blur of desperation.
<TheMostMayo> please.
<TheMostMayo> if you’re going to do this
<TheMostMayo> if you’re really going to do this
<TheMostMayo> at least let me be there.
<TheMostMayo> please.
<TheMostMayo> don’t make me sit here not knowing.
<TheMostMayo> don’t make me find out from a news article or something
<TheMostMayo> i won’t be able to take it, Derek.
<TheMostMayo> i really won’t
He stops himself. His breath is coming in short, ragged gasps now, the tears falling from his face directly on top of the table. He wipes his face with his sleeve, but it’s useless. The tears keep coming.
<TheMostMayo> just… let me be there.
<TheMostMayo> let me sit with you.
<TheMostMayo> let me hold your hand or just be in the same room.
<TheMostMayo> anything. please
<TheMostMayo> i’ll be quiet. i’ll be good. i swear.
Seconds pass. A minute. Maybe two. The silence in the game is deafening, but the silence in his room is worse.
Avery buries his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking, expecting another door closed.
And then—
He grabs his keys and nothing else. As soon as he gets up, Avery is almost immediately standing in the hallway, the door to his apartment swinging shut behind him, and he's running. The stairwell is a blur of gray concrete and flickering lights. He nearly trips twice, catching himself on the railing, the metal cold and biting against his palm.
He bursts through the building's front door into the night air, and it hits him like a wave — cold, sharp, smelling of rain. He gasps it in, lungs burning, and for a moment he just stands there on the sidewalk, disoriented, until his brain catches up with his body.
Car. The car.
He sprints toward his beat-up car, yanking the door open and throwing himself into the driver's seat. The engine roars to life on the second try, and he's already pulling out of the spot before his seatbelt is fully clicked into place.
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
The words tumble out of him in breathless gasps, directed at nothing and everything — the universe, fate, whatever force had decided to let them live in the same city. Thirty minutes. Derek's address was only thirty minutes away on a good day. That’s all he needs.
Avery glances at his phone, propped up against the dashboard, the GPS already calculating the route. The screen glows with merciless clarity: 22:45.
The streets are emptier than he expected — most people already home, already gathered around tables and televisions, waiting for the countdown. He runs a red light. Then another. The second one makes him pause for half a second, his foot hovering over the brake, before he pushes down harder on the accelerator.
He's going to get a fine. Probably multiple fines. His license might get suspended. He might crash. He might die. He might die.
It doesn't matter.
The thought comes with terrifying clarity. None of it matters. None of it matters if he doesn't get there in time.
22:56.
The GPS announces he's a few minutes away.
And then the traffic hits.
"No, no, no, no, no—"
He leans on the horn, but it's useless. The cars ahead of him aren't moving. He can see the reason now — a police car has blocked off the intersection ahead, its lights flashing blue and red, and officers are redirecting traffic down side streets. New Year's crowds, probably. A celebration somewhere nearby, spilling out into the roads.
He looks at the clock once again. 22:58.
Avery doesn’t know how much time he has left. What if he gets there too late and Derek is already—
He doesn’t think twice before throwing himself out of the car, leaving it abandoned in the middle of the street.
He runs. He runs like his life depends on it, because it does, it does, it does.
When he finally reaches the street, he almost collapses with relief. The building is right there. Avery stumbles toward it, his hand outstretched, and yanks at the handle of the door.
It doesn't move.
He yanks again, harder, rattling the door in its frame, but it's locked. Locked. The word doesn't make sense for a moment, doesn't compute in the chaos that is his mind.
Taking a deep breath, he analyzes his surroundings, his gaze falling on a tree next to one of the building’s windows. He feels no hesitance going towards it, even thought he hasn’t climbed a tree since he was a child.
Thankfully, it is easier to climb than it has any right to be, and in no time he's level with a window slightly open, a crack of pale light bleeding through.
He reaches for it, his fingers catching on the frame, and pushes. The window slides up with a groan, and he hauls himself over the sill, tumbling into a dark room, landing on something soft — a couch, maybe — and for a moment he just lies there, catching his breath, his heart pounding so hard he can feel it in his teeth.
Then he's moving again.
He stumbles through the apartment, his hands outstretched, feeling for walls, for doorframes, paying no mind to actually light up the place. He goes through the living room. A kitchen, the bathroom. A hallway, narrow and dark. And then — light spilling out from under a closed door.
He reaches for the handle. His hand is shaking so badly he has to use both to turn it, and the door swings open with a thud where it hits the wall.
And there he is, alive. Alive, alive, alive. Avery feels such a sudden and complete relief wash over him that he has to struggle to keep his legs from giving away.
The way Derek whole body jerks is instinctive, his hands curling into fists on the desk, his head snapping toward the sound. For one brief, electric moment, his eyes meet Avery's. They're red-rimmed, glassy, ringed with shadows so deep they look like bruises.
Then he winces.
His head drops, his hands coming up to press against his temples, and he turns back to the screen. His shoulders are trembling now and his voice, when it comes, is barely a whisper.
“You really came.”
Avery stands in the doorway, chest heaving, sweat cooling on his skin, and he can't move. Because Derek is there — alive, breathing, his fingers still curled around the edge of the desk like he's holding himself together by sheer force of will — and the sight of him hits Avery like a physical blow.
He takes a deep breath and crosses the room before he can think better of it.
"Of course I did. Where else would I be?"
When no response comes, he doesn't wait. He turns, walks back into the hallway, and returns within seconds, a wooden chair dragging behind him. He sets it down next to Derek's, the legs scraping against the floor, and collapses into it with an exaggerated exhale. It’s loud, theatrical and clearly intentional. Anything to cut through the suffocating weight in the room.
“You're lucky you ended up with a loser who has nothing better to do on New Year's Eve."
His weak attempt to light up the mood lands. Derek's lips twitch, and something small and tired pulls at the corner of his mouth.
"I wouldn't have it any other way," Derek murmurs.
Avery's heart does something inexplicable beneath his ribs. Juggling, somersaults, the whole circus. It's ridiculous, the way those quiet words undo him, and he opens his mouth to say something, anything, to cover it up.
But Derek moves first.
His arm loops through Avery's, casual and easy, like it's something they do every day, even though they met today. His head comes to rest against Avery's shoulder, the weight of it warm. His gaze is still fixed on the computer screen, but the sigh that escapes him is content. As if dying to become the vessel of some ancient, terrible creature isn't the end of the world after all. As if this — them, right here — makes it bearable.
Avery's throat tightens.
He will not cry. He came all this way, climbed a tree, abandoned his car in the middle of the street — he is not going to cry.
With sudden courage, Avery threads his fingers through Derek's. The other man's hand is smaller than his, the bones delicate beneath his skin, and it's cold. Too cold. It shouldn't be that cold.
The words come before Avery can stop them, spilling out like they'll choke him if he keeps them inside his throat a second longer.
"I'm sorry I couldn't help."
Derek makes a soft sound. A hum, low and tired.
"It's not your fault," he says quietly. "I chose this."
“Still. If I wasn't–”
“Hey,” Derek squeezed his hand gently, just enough to get his attention, “I know how you feel. Kinda. But it’s okay.”
A small smile forms on Derek's mouth.
“You—you climbed a tree, Avery. You ran through the streets. You broke into my apartment because I—because I am going to—"
He couldn’t finish the sentence. For a moment his composure fractured, something raw and ugly and undoubtedly human surfacing before he shoved it back down.
"You came," he whispers. "You came."
Avery's vision blurs. He blinks hard, once, twice, three times. Forces the burning back down. Clenches his jaw so tight his teeth ache.
He is not going to cry.
Because the one who should be crying is not him. Derek is the one sitting here waiting to have his last breath. Derek is the one who has accepted something that no one should ever have to accept. Derek is the one who looked at the world and said I will break so it doesn't have to.
And Avery is just — what? A friend? A stranger? A man who climbed through a window and now wants to make this about him?
Imagine how awful it is, he thinks viciously, to be dying and see almost a stranger sobbing like they're the one who's lost something.
He won't do that to Derek. He won't. But—
“I don’t want you to die.”
The words tear out of him like something clawing its way free. They're ugly and raw and so, so selfish, and the moment they leave his mouth, the dam breaks.
He can't stop it. He can't hold it back anymore. The tears come hot and fast, spilling down his cheeks, certainly falling on top of Derek’s head. His shoulders shake.
"I'm sorry," he gasps, putting his own head on top of Derek’s. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry—"
"It's okay," Derek says quietly, like those people on videos rescuing helpless little animals, as if not to scare him away. His thumb caresses Avery's hand in a soothing motion. "It's okay."
It's not okay because you are not okay and it's my fault, he wants to say, but the words come out a mess from his mouth, barely coherent through his sobs. Something about fault and sorry and should have been me, all of it tumbling together into something unintelligible, something pathetic.
Despite everything, Derek makes a shushing sound. Gentle. So gentle it makes Avery's chest cave in all over again.
"I know," Derek murmurs. "I know."
He doesn't know how long he spends there, crying while Derek repeats I know, I know over and over again, but eventually he realizes… They don't have much time. Avery doesn't want this to be the last thing Derek has to deal with. So even as his heart shatters, he tries to calm himself.
It takes longer than it should. His breaths come in ragged, stuttering waves, each inhale catching on something sharp lodged in his chest. Eventually, the sobs quiet to sniffles. The shaking subsides to an occasional tremor. Avery's grip on Derek's hand loosens, though he doesn't let go. He doesn't think he can let go.
He pulls back slowly, wiping his face with the back of his hand, and lets out a long, unsteady breath.
"Sorry," he mutters. His voice is wrecked, barely more than a croak. "I'm sorry."
"Stop apologizing.”
"Right. Yeah." Avery laughs weakly, a hollow, exhausted sound. "I keep doing that."
Derek doesn't smile, but something in his face softens. He looks tired, and well, slipping away. There is no other way to put it.
“Better?" Derek asks, instead, as if Avery was the one in dire need of consoling.
God, he is so selfish.
Avery shakes his head. "No." He pauses, considering. "But I'm done. For now. I'm—" He swallows, forces his voice steady. "What do you want to do? With the time we have… what do you want?"
Derek blinks slowly, like the question surprises him. Like he hadn't considered that he might get to want anything in these last moments.
"I don't know," he admits. His eyes squinted to look at the screen. Avery thinks about smashing it. About taking Derek's chair and hurling it into the screen, watching the glass shatter, watching the words d3rlord3 and TheMostMayo disappear into a shower of sparks. "I hadn't really thought past…" He trails off, gesturing vaguely with his free hand. "This."
"Then let's think about something else. Something better."
Derek's eyes blink like it takes effort. They're glassy now, unfocused.
"Okay," Derek murmurs. "Something better."
Avery searches for something, anything, better than there.
"Were you in college?" he asks. "Before all this. Before the…" He gestures vaguely, not wanting to say the words before meeting me and dying.
Derek's lips twitch. "Yeah."
"What were you studying?"
"Engineering." Derek's voice is faint, but there's something underneath it. Something like pride, maybe. Or memory. "Mechanical. I liked—" He pauses, breathing shallow. "I like knowing how things work. Putting them together."
Avery smiles, small and sad. "That makes sense."
"What about you?"
"What about me?"
"College. What did you—" He stops, swallows. "What did you want to be?"
"I never really had a dream," he answers quietly. "Not like you. Not a thing I wanted to be. I just…" He looks at their hands. "I just wanted to have a house some day. Somewhere quiet. With a yard, maybe. And a dog."
Avery doesn’t add the particular fact that these days, those dreams always end up with Derek in them, somehow.
"That's nice," Derek says. "That's really nice."
"You think?" Avery's laugh is self-conscious, embarrassed. The laugh of someone used to trying to become smaller in any room. "It's not exactly changing the world."
"No." Derek's hand tightens around his, weak but present. "But it's a good world to want. A quiet one." His eyes crinkle slightly. "What kind?"
"Of dog?"
Derek hums, a thread of amusement still clinging to the sound. "Unless you're also planning on a very specific kind of yard. In which case, tell me about that too."
Avery snorts despite himself. "You're very demanding for someone who's—" He stops. The word dying hanging between them, unspoken but very much there. He reroutes. "For someone who's supposed to be answering my questions."
"You already asked about college. Fair's fair." Derek's eyes are half-lidded, but there's something alert in them still, something that's holding on. As if knowing what kind of hypothetical dog Avery wants in his hypothetical life is really, really important.
So Avery does. They talk and talk and talk. About hypothetical houses and hypothetical dreams and hypothetical jobs like there is a future to look up to.
Until the clock gets too close to midnight and it gets increasingly difficult to pretend. Harder to ignore the way Derek's responses come slower, each word taking more effort than the last. His voice, already soft, is fading to something barely audible — a thread of sound that Avery has to lean in to catch. His eyes drift shut more often than they stay open, and when they open again, it takes longer each time. There's a furrow between his brows now, a crease of pain that wasn't there before, or maybe it was and Avery just didn't want to see it.
"—and my cousins," Derek murmurs, but his words slur together, losing shape.
He trails off. His eyes close. For a long moment, he doesn't open them.
"Derek." Avery's voice cracks, frantic and desperate and very, very scared. "Derek, stay with me. Come on."
Derek's eyelids flutter. It takes three tries, but they open and when they do, his pupils are totally gold now. He realizes he doesn't know the true color of his eyes. It's stupid but it sounds really important here, at the end.
"What color are your eyes?"
Derek laughs. More of a huff than anything else, and then, for the first time, his gaze locks on him. His eyebrows furrow in pain and he grits his teeth but — there.
"You're... asking me that… now?" Derek's voice is a rasp, barely audible, but there's something underneath it. Something that might be amusement, might be disbelief, might be the last spark of the person Avery has been talking to.
"Yes." Avery's grip on his hand is desperate now, clinging, because he is dying and he will never, ever know the color of the eyes of the person he is in love with. "I need to know. I need to — I should have asked before. I should have known. I should have—"
"Avery." Derek's fingers twitch against his, the barest movement, but it's enough to stop the spiral. “Hey, look at me.”
Derek's hands come up, slow and trembling, and cup Avery's face. His palms are cold now, so cold, but they're gentle. They cradle Avery's jaw with tenderness as if he was made of porcelain. His thumbs move, wiping away the tears streaming down Avery's cheeks, and his eyes stay locked on his face.
"I want you to be the last person I see before I go." His thumb wipes a tear, then another. "It isn't a bad way to go out at all."
Avery can't speak. His throat is too tight, his chest too full, and the words are stuck somewhere behind his ribs, tangled up with everything he should have said. So he just nods, or tries to, and lets Derek hold his face, lets Derek's cold fingers trace the lines of his cheeks, his jaw, the corner of his mouth. Tries to memorize a feeling he will no longer get to experience ever again.
"I’m sorry for being so harsh in the end, but… I'm glad it was you," Derek says, and his voice is so faint now, barely a breath. "I'm glad it was you, Avery. I'm glad you were the one who—"
He doesn't finish. His eyes are closing, the gold flickering, and Avery feels something in his chest crack open.
"No," he whispers. "No, no, no, no — Derek, stay with me. Just a little longer. Please."
Derek's eyes open one last time. They find Avery's face, as if the only thing worth seeing.
Avery shouldn't kiss him. He really shouldn’t. He will remember all of this and then... then what? For the rest of his life he will remember Derek as his first love, his first kiss. He will carry this like a stone in his pocket, heavy and smooth and always there. He will turn it over in his fingers on bad days, on lonely nights, on the anniversaries that will mark themselves on his calendar without him meaning to remember.
He will remember this for the rest of his life. And he is terrified.
But he can't — he can't — let him go without—
He leans in.
The kiss is soft. Barely anything. Just the press of his lips against Derek's, gentle and tentative and so, so careful. It lasts a second. Maybe two. Maybe an eternity that exists outside of time, in the space between Derek's last breath and the first firework of the new year.
Derek goes still.
Avery closes his eyes, refusing to see whatever vision awaits for him. Instead, he leans down and puts his head on Derek's shoulder, hugs him and picks up Derek's hands to go around him as well. The cold is swallowing Derek's whole.
It's in his fingers first — those hands that Avery has to position around his own back, that he has to hold in place because they won't stay on their own. The fingers are stiff now, unbending, and when Avery presses them, he can feel the chill of them through his shirt, sharp as a blade.
The cold is in Derek's chest too, where Avery's cheek rests. There's no heartbeat there anymore, no rise and fall of breath, just the unyielding stillness of something that was alive hours ago and is now becoming something else.
Avery holds him tighter, hoping he wasn’t scared.
An explosion of color slices through the window, red and gold and violet, painting the room in fragments of celebration. Fireworks.
Right.
Avery wraps his arms around Derek's shoulders, pulls him close, tries to press some of his own warmth into that cooling body. His own heart is pounding, frantic and desperate, and he thinks — stupidly, impossibly — that maybe if he holds on tight enough, some of it will transfer. Maybe if he just doesn't let go, Derek will feel it. Will know that someone is here. Will know that he wasn't alone.
None of it happens, of course. Another firework blooms in the sky.
"Happy New Year," he whispers, and no one answers at all.