Hermitcraft stories

Home (angst, fluff)

Wooo I'm back with a new story!
This takes place irl in England, but it's STILL JUST THE PERSONAS.
I wrote this for really long... 2800 words.

Warnings! (Pls read) : Attempted suicide, mild gore (slightly graphic), mentions of death, mentions of abuse, depression, drugs, drug addiction, smoking.

Happy ending I promise!

Can be seen as romantic or platonic, Biffsuma.
______________________________________

Biffa turned around a corner, off the main road into a smaller ally. His right hand was at his side, resting on his gun, other lazily hanging beside him.

He looked around, he tried to at least, but after the well lit main street his eyes weren't used to the darkness.

He waited for his sight to brighten up to a level where he could see, and looked around. He saw a body lying on the ground. He immediately rushed to it, placing his hand to his wrist to check if he had a pulse. His hand got sticky with what he could only guess was blood, that was when he realized the bloody glass shards laying around, the broken beer bottle, and most importantly the many cuts on the guy's left wrist.

He decided to check his breathing rather than his pulse, noting that he was still breathing, luckily. He wanted to call the ambulance, but he realised that the only chance of the guy surviving was if he immediately tended his wounds, no matter how poorly.

His ability to act quickly and efficiently in cases of emergency had developed at his time as a soldier, one skill he was weary happy to have right now.

No easily accessible first-aid boxes were near, so the best he could too is to try to stop the bleeding. He took off the guy's shoelaces with extreme speed, and tied it around high up his arm to toggle the blood flow for now. That can't stay there too long he made a quick mental note, and then focused on the cuts.

He took out his switchblade, and cut off a piece of the leg of his uniform. He didn't want to damage it much, but he couldn't use his jacket or the guy's sweater, he needed those to avoid hypothermia in the chilly night. If his body was focused on keeping him alive he wouldn't have the energy to produce much heat.

He made a fairly efficient compression bounding, at least it would hopefully last for enough.

He called the ambulance, telling them his exact location, the severity of the wounds and anything they asked.

They will be here in 10 minutes. Lucky.

Now that the intensity of the situation had faded a bit, he could think of what had happened.

He still watched over his patient, covering him in his jacket and lifting his arm up, also taking off the shoelace.

He stood up, and looked around, scanning the area. He noticed the cigar beside the guy, he must've dropped it in the middle of what he was doing. He smelled it, weed. Marijuana, he thought but he wasn't sure.

Says a lot about the guy to be honest. Also, what was he exactly doing? In a dark alleyway, smoking weed, cutting his arms with a piece of broken glass. He started to feel sorry for him.

He checked his pulse again, this time at his neck. It was still beating, very faint and weak, but still alive. He hoped the ambulance would arrive soon.

***

When X woke up, the first thing he noticed was that he didn't really feel his body too much.

Was he dead?

Also, everything was really bright, it almost hurt his eyes.

Was he in heaven? There was not fucking way he'd go to heaven after what he did.