Oneshots! (Mostly Hermitcraft)

One More Time: Do I have to die to hear you miss me? [Impulse]

Febuwhump Day 11: Time Loop ft. human!Impulse
SEQUEL to Day 7: Suffering in Silence

Summary:
In which Impulse finally gets the help he needs.

TWs: Suicidal ideation, suicide, I screwed with time again (but that's the prompt's fault)

He wakes up in pain, clutching his hand to his chest as he pants heavily, looking up at the unfinished ceiling of his tiny bedroom hidden away in the wall of his storage room. He isn't in physical pain, although it feels like he's being torn apart from the inside. Instead, his head screams and cries out in pain, unbidden emotions surfacing and breaking through his facade, dancing and raging throughout his mind.

It's pain, it hurts, and it won't go away. He's tried every coping mechanism he knows, everything from journaling to sketching to building to redstone. Nothing works, despite all four being coping methods he's used for years. Being with the other hermits is even more painful as every sentence and action threatens to break the dam, but he can't retreat into isolation. It would be too suspicious.

Nothing can free him from this prison of pain he's trapped in. The faithful, trustworthy skills he'd fallen back on time and time again were finally failing him, as they had been destined to do. He's fallen back into bad habits already, taking his blade to the underside of his forearm several nights of the week, strategically placing each cut so it could be easily brushed off as an accidental injury. He can't bear the thought of having hermits worry over him.

He wants to die. He needs to escape, and death is the only answer, the only way he'll be able to go from feeling everything to feeling nothing. Blissful, sweet nothing. He won't have to resort to pain. He won't have to scream into his strip mine. He won't have to journal for hours into the dark hours of the night. He won't have to deal with the prospect of the hermits worrying over him.

He can just leave and fix all his problems. He won't have to deal with the constant pain, the constant overload if he dies. He won't have to worry about being a problem that must be solved. Already, his brain is ticking through the methods he could employ, rotating through every possible death message that could happen unsuspiciously.

With a shaking hand, he gropes for his communicator and turns off his seven o'clock alarm, putting his arm across his eyes before pushing himself upright, swinging his legs out from under the covers and planting his feet on the cold floor, sending a shock through his body. He walks to the chest at the foot of his bed and pulls out a fresh set of clothes.

For a few minutes, he looks at his shirtless chest, slowly taking in the nicks and scratches he'd dealt himself. Finally, he shakes himself out of his stupor and gets dressed, pulling on his sneakers and tying them tightly. He swings his backpack onto his back and exits the tiny room, walking over to his storage system and taking out a golden carrot, biting into it and chewing slowly. Might as well make sure he's taking care of himself on his final day. Might as well finish a few projects while he's at it.

Pistons fire as someone activates his redstone door, and Skizz walks in, brushing his hair out of his eyes as he looks around the space. His face lights up as his eyes land on Impulse, and he runs over, red-tinted eyes glowing in the brightly lit storage area. He plops down on the floor in front of Impulse, watching him eat his breakfast with patient, but eager, eyes. Impulse sinks to the floor to join him, elbows resting on his knees as he looks at Skizz expectantly, finishing the last of his golden carrot.

"So, I gotta get a kill," Skizz begins, his eyes flashing on the word 'kill'. "And you kinda, sorta, owe me, m'kay?"

Impulse chuckles, shaking his head. "For what?"

"You murdered me! And- and- and-" his best friend exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air.

Impulse smiles smugly, asking, "So?"