Work Text:
Another meaningless day. The world drifts by, hardly worth an afterthought.
Chance takes another swig from the bottle. He’s practically drowning himself in despair, desperately trying to keep himself afloat. He stands there above the world, only a few steps from falling over the edge. He’s so close to ending it all—but there’s something that keeps him from taking that final, damning step.
Fear. It consumes him, that petrifying feeling. His mind clings to it, with questions about what the end might mean for him. He can't possibly end it like this, not knowing. That's what keeps him there, waiting for the wind to sway him over. The unknown, and what comes after.
How had things come to this? His life used to be so full of excitement… but now it was nothing more than misery. He had tried his best to fill that void within him, but nothing ever worked. And he was tired of chasing bets, chasing those endless highs he could never quite reach. He had made his peace with it, knowing he could never be happy.
He finishes the last gulp of alcohol, then sets the bottle aside. The fear doesn't feel as intense as before, now dulled by his senses. Maybe there really was something to this so-called liquid courage—it made you a desperate fool, willing to do anything.
He settles near the edge of the rooftop, legs dangling over the void. Now that he’s made it to this point, it feels less daunting than he expected. He’s always thought about this before, where people go after death. He’s seen it too many times, to the point that it's become nothing more than an old friend—whether it's through the barrel of a gun in Russian Roulette, or running away from a sword aimed for his neck.
Maybe heaven is real, and that light at the end of the tunnel isn't just a delusion. Maybe there's a damnation for those who have sinned, just like him. That… doesn't really matter to him. He had always believed he would be afraid when the end claimed him. But now that he’s actually staring it down, he feels a strange sense of calm washing over him.
In the end, I just wanted this pain to end. I wanted to find a reason to live, something beyond gambles that I couldn't afford to risk.
He takes out a box of cigarettes from his pocket, followed by his lighter. He brings it close, letting the flame kiss the tip, before bringing it to his lips. The smoke feels bitter in his lungs, serving as another reminder of how far he’s fallen.
It’s a shame, really, that his life has turned out to be like this. He was supposed to be the luckiest man alive—at least, that's what everyone believed. But look at him now, sinking in his own misery… all because of a rigged bet he had taken. He had been smug, and mixed with the wrong crowd. Now, he had a mountain of debt to repay.
I am a man with nothing left to lose. There is no going back to how things once were.
He had already made his peace with his inevitable ending. He had tied up his last affairs, visited his ma and pa, saying his final goodbyes to those cold stones where they rested. If they could see him now, they would probably be disappointed with him. They would question where they went wrong with raising him, and how they had ended up such a screw-up of a son. Honestly, he had imagined they would be rolling in their graves right now, refusing to accept such a thing.
And that damned Sonnellino. He should have blown the bastard’s head off, after what they had done to him. They had been bitter after losing the bet, and ruined everything for Chance, leaving him with nothing left. Maybe if he hadn't been so cocky, it wouldn't have escalated to this point. They still ruined his life. Forever. There was no changing that.
But what use is there, dwelling on things that cannot be changed? Perhaps this was always how it was meant to end. The man who escaped the jaws of death, only to welcome it like an old friend.
Looks like my luck’s finally run out, huh?
Chance rises to his feet, tiptoeing near the edge, cigarette still between his fingers. He’s right there—he’s so close to ending it all. One more step, and this suffering would all be over. But before he can make that final leap of faith, his stomach grumbles faintly, an absurd reaction.
Damn. He’s feeling hungry.
For a few seconds, he just stands there, unsure of what to do. He should just jump, shouldn't he? He can end it all right now, and never worry about such things again. It shouldn't matter. Really, it doesn't.
Maybe it's just his mind playing tricks on him, desperately trying to give him a reason to live, to keep going for a while longer. What a pathetic excuse, delaying the inevitable in favor of fleeting joys.
Still, he finds himself stepping back. He can try again later, after he’s gotten a bite to eat. The moment’s been ruined anyway, and he saw no point in ending things right now.
Once again, I’ve lost.
Chance taps the cigarette once, knocking the last of its ashes free. Then, he drops it to the ground, and crushes it beneath his heel, extinguishing the flame completely.
Just another day, he promises himself. I won't live for long.
He walks around the streets aimlessly, trying to find somewhere to eat. He isn't really sure where to go, considering that most places were already closed at this ungodly hour.
I should have stayed at that damned rooftop. If I did, I wouldn't be moping around like this.
That's when he sees it, his salvation. In the distance, there's a screen displaying an advertisement for a newly-opened chain restaurant. The famous Builder Brothers’ Pizza, just a few blocks away. But that isn't what catches his attention—it’s the words underneath that does.
24 hours, it reads. All day, everyday… freshly made pizza, right from the oven.
That’ll do, he supposes. That's all he can afford, anyway.
He starts walking towards the restaurant, following the sign leading him there. Eventually, he arrives.
Chance can't bring himself to enter, though. He feels a little lost, like he doesn't belong here. And it's true—he shouldn't be here.
Maybe he should leave. Maybe he should have jumped. Damn it. What kind of excuse was that? Stopping himself because he was hungry…
Oh well. He could go back right now, but he’s already spent so much effort just to get here. So he might as well eat some pizza, right? Make it worth his time, have it as his final dinner.
Chance steps inside the restaurant. And as he does, the bell above the door jingles, signalling his arrival.
The place is empty, with not a customer in sight. That makes sense, especially since it’s long past dinner time. Only one worker stands behind the counter, idly scrolling away on his phone. However, as soon as he hears Chance enter the restaurant, he quickly puts his phone away, shoving it into his pocket.
“Welcome to Builder Brothers’ Pizza! What can I get you this evening?" the cashier asks, a bright smile plastered across his face.
Chance’s gaze drifts, his eyes refusing to meet theirs. They settle onto the name tag on the cashier’s uniform, the one pinned to the fabric.
Elliot Builder.
How interesting, he thinks. It's the same surname as the owners. But it's probably just a coincidence… After all, why would the son of one of the owners be working there, let alone so late in the night?
"A pepperoni pizza,” he answers, his voice sounding hoarse. It must be from all the drinking he did earlier. Chance probably looks awful right now—his appearance is disheveled, and he has dark bags under his eyes, like he hasn't slept in days. But Elliot doesn't seem to care. He just keeps smiling, acting like nothing was wrong.
"Coming right up!” Elliot beams, already keying in the order. The price appears on the screen, and Chance digs through his wallet just to find whatever cash he has left. It’s barely enough to pay for the meal and a stingy tip. He probably won't be able to eat another meal again. Not that it matters.
"Thanks,” he mumbles, before trudging back to an empty seat. He doesn't have to wait for long—within minutes, Elliot has reappeared from the kitchen, pizza in hand.
“Here you go, sir. Enjoy your meal!" Elliot exclaims, gently setting the pizza pan on the table. Chance nods in response, but he doesn't say anything. He can't bring himself to. Instead, he sinks further into the seat, his mind already drifting elsewhere.
There's this regret, lingering at the back of his mind. He shouldn't have come here. He was only delaying the inevitable, and prolonging his suffering. What is he even supposed to do tomorrow? He doesn't have enough money to afford another meal.
No matter what he does, he is doomed to fail. The universe has screwed him over, rightfully so.
He stares at the pizza, feeling as lost as ever.
After he eats this… then what? Is he just supposed to go back to gambling his life away? No. There's nothing left for him anymore, no high that could ever fill that void.
Maybe he should leave right now. He can just turn around, walk back out, and pretend like he was never here in the first place. In his spiral, he ends up thinking about the rooftop again—he had been so close to the edge, to that freedom he so desperately sought. Suddenly, he regrets not jumping, and ending it all.
A familiar voice snaps him out of his thoughts.
“Sir…? Are you alright?”
Huh?
Chance blinks, confused. That's when he realises he’s spent all this time staring, at absolutely nothing. The pizza in front of him sits untouched, already beginning to cool. Elliot is standing beside him, a concerned expression on his face.
“You’ve been… staring, for a while. Are you going to eat soon?”
Oh. He must have been day-dreaming for far longer than he believed.
“Yeah, I will," Chance replies quietly, leaning forward to look at the cold pizza. “Sorry."
That answer should have been enough to satisfy Elliot’s curiosity. But it isn't. He frowns slightly, seemingly deep in thought.
“You know, I can heat up your pizza if you want. It's probably gone cold by now.”
Chance shakes his head, declining his offer. He’s already stolen too much from this world. He doesn't want to take something else that isn't his, a time that doesn't belong to him. “I wouldn't want to trouble ya."
"Don't worry, it's no trouble at all! The place is usually quiet around this hour anyway, with not much going on. Really, I don't mind reheating it at all."
If Elliot was fine with it, then who was he to argue? It's better for him to accept, to get it over and done with.
“...if you say so.”
Upon hearing their agreement, he carefully picks up the pan, before heading towards the kitchen. But he returns just as quickly, with the warm pizza in hand.
"You should eat it while it's still hot—pizza doesn't taste as great when it gets cold.”
Chance nods weakly, unable to muster the energy to form a proper reply. Hell, he probably can't even force himself to eat the pizza. Before this, he did indeed feel hungry. But now, he just feels hollow. And throughout it all, Elliot is still there, watching him. Just great.
“Forgive me if I’m overstepping, but…"
They take in a deep breath, readying themselves to ask that heavy question.
“…are you okay?”
Chance doesn't expect that at all. They're complete strangers, and have never met before until today. So why does he care? How he’s doing shouldn't matter to him at all.
"I’m fine enough,” he answers at last, finally picking up a slice off the pan. He bites into it hesitantly, still uncertain about the whole thing.
It's warm. And tasty. Melted cheese, mixed with bits of salty pepperoni, and that crispy crust… It feels like home.
Chance takes another bite, then another. He begins to eat more messily now, finally realising how hungry he is. He should feel embarrassed, seeing how he’s eating right now—but he can't bring himself to care, even with Elliot watching. Manners can come later.
He probably looks like a wreck, like a man who hasn't had a proper rest in years. And he must be reeking of alcohol and cigarette smoke from earlier. It's a miracle Elliot didn't kick him out immediately. Instead, he’s just there, staying by his side, helping him. How strange. He doesn't deserve this kindness, not from a complete stranger.
“…you’re not alone, sir.”
Chance pauses mid-bite, looking up towards him, seemingly puzzled.
Why would he say such a thing?
Elliot hurriedly looks away, before rubbing the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed. “Sorry, I don't know where that came from. I just… I hope that you're okay. People care about you, you know?”
Usually, Chance would chalk it as him being the nosy type. But there's something in his eyes, an expression that feels almost familiar. He doesn't pity them, not really. Maybe it's a look of recognition, like he knows what exactly they’re going through right now.
“Ah, I should probably go now—" Elliot begins, already turning away to leave. But Chance stops him. He can't let them leave just like that, not without thanking him first.
“…thanks. I needed that.”
Elliot’s lips curve into a faint smile. They nod once, before finally walking away, leaving them alone, and all by himself.
An unexpected act of kindness. To them, it might seem simple. But to Chance, it meant everything. This was something he convinced himself unworthy of, that he would never experience such a warm feeling again. But there it was, as clear as day.
You’re not alone, Chance. People care about you. They’ll miss you when you’re gone.
He has to try his best to hold back his sobs, to not burst into tears right then and there. He quickly wipes them away with the back of his hand, and he bites his lip, no longer feeling as certain in his decision to end it all.
Just eat the pizza. You can think about things later.
With that, he forces himself to finish the pizza, until there's nothing left. And when he’s done, he picks up a napkin, and wipes the last traces of grease on his fingers. Then, he pulls out his wallet, and leaves the last of his cash on the table as thanks. It's the least he can do, to repay them for their kindness.
Chance stands up, and walks towards the door. For a moment, he considers saying something to Elliot—a farewell, maybe, or another word of thanks. But the counter at the front is empty, and there’s no sign of him. He’s probably in the back cleaning, or doing something else. He doesn't really know.
And so, he steps outside, not glancing back once. That is, until he hears a voice, calling out from behind him.
He turns to look. Elliot has rushed out of the pizzeria, slightly out of breath.
“Thank you, sir! Have a good night!”
Chance simply lifts his hand to wave goodbye, before turning and walking off. Somehow, after everything, his heart feels a little lighter, and his stomach is a little fuller.
See you, Elliot.
Just another day, he reminds himself. He won't end it all—at least not today. Dying could wait, and it wasn't worth ruining such a good meal over.
I don't know what I would do without you, Elliot. Thanks to you, I’ll be able to make it through the night.