Work Text:
The second D3rlord3 finished typing, he hit ESC, shut down Minecraft with task manager, and slammed that dreaded laptop shut.
His fingers and eyes and head trembled and ached. His legs were too shaky to stand on. He didn’t even feel the floor as his knees slammed into it, too preoccupied with the— with everything and anything that ever would be and had been— and he wanted nothing more than for it to stop.
But he couldn’t stop it.
Not yet.
Because he would— is— tucking the laptop into storage, piled precariously on the few boxes he had— that Avery will take— has already taken, and he can do nothing but pray his warnings are heeded but knows they aren’t—
(His head reverberates against the metal locker with a satisfying clunk, and through the clarifying pain he can almost pretend he isn’t being torn apart inside out.)
Anyway. As much as he wanted to throw the thing off a cliff and be done with it, he couldn’t. Here, his shaky fingertips pressed against the cool surface, he needed to open it, even saw it so perfectly in his mind—
And he wrenched his hand away, and shut the locker, and knew since the start the easiest ways he could go about killing himself. And knew it would hurt.
And knew he didn’t have any other choice.