Ready, Aim...

Love?

Authors Note: Trigger warning for the following

Suicidal thoughts, actions, unhealthy mindsets, and slightly sexual implications

Nothing graphic.

This is a fiction based on the game Do Not Take This Risk, an otome like game where the main character is a suicidal man who calls you by accident trying to reach the suicide hotline. This is a spin on one of the 9 endings where you do accidentally kill him.

If you have not played this game, you will likely not understand all the implications, I highly recommend it (its free!) so long as you don't find the thought of not saving him in some endings too disturbing

Which is why I re-wrote this particular ending from the game to my liking.

Because I like vaguely happy endings damn it.

You hover uncertainly, straddling his waistline. You weren't sure what he had meant when he said "Do you want to play?" To be honest it had sounded menacing and you had preemptively pushed him to the bed unaware of how.. embarrassing a position it was going to put you in.

He seemed to catch on to your discomfort and laughed.

"Aha, you win, now what kitten?"

His hand strokes along your wrist and his eyes pierce you as he slowly pulls it forward, pressing a hot kiss to your palm with a salacious grin.

"I.. I'm calling the police." You attempt to be firm but your voice wavers, he needs more help than you're capable of giving him and at this rate you might do something regrettable.

His charming mask slides away like water and his lip curls.

"Oh? And what are you going to tell them? That I attacked you? That I want to end my miserable existence?"

He glares at your taken aback expression.

"Or... is it both? Heh.. that's fine. That's... fine."

A sort of resignation creeps into his voice and he eyes the drawer beside the small bed resentfully.

You begin to protest his cruel accusation, you aren't doing this to hurt him, you want to help more than anything but he cuts you off brusquely.

"There's a gun in my desk, I suggest you shoot me, and put me out of my misery. Because I'm going to bite my tongue off."

Your eyes widen in shock and without thinking you reach across the bed for the side table drawer. Your hand wraps around the grip and time slows to a crawl.

You pull back with it in hand, and almost without effort, aim it at his head. His eyes slide shut and for a moment he looks peaceful as he exhales. Your hand encloses around the gun, your thumb slides the hammer back as your finger rounds the trigger. Your breath stills as the hammer clicks softy.

You can't.

You simply can't. Even if it means watching him drown in his own blood you just can't bring yourself to shoot him.

And so you do the only thing that makes sense to your addled mind in the moment.

You raise the gun and press it to your temple.

Eyes that had fluttered closed in relief now flickered open again in annoyance for a brief moment before widening in horror as your finger clutches the trigger.

You close your own eyes, you don't want to see his fear as you pull.

BAM

Your body flinches, your ears scream a piercing ring incessantly.