Pico x BF (Keith) Oneshots (Requests open!)

Reuinted (Part 1)

A/N: Whelp, I done went and did it. I had fun though, and I feel better about writing now. I feel...proud? I guess? Anyways, enjoy the story. ^^

(Pico's POV) [TW: SELF HARM]

It's been a long while since the incident.
Such a long while that I can't keep track of the years anymore. I mean, I think it's been 13 years, but I can't be sure.

Anyways, after 13 years, I still hear the gunshots going off and ringing in my ears. I still hear the screams of the innocent children. I still remember the comforting face I had once seen.

I never saw him after that day. I always assumed he died. It broke me. I still think about him, I still wish I could've protected him...I don't understand why Cassandra killed everyone else and kept me alive. Honestly, I wouldn't care that much that everyone else was dead if I had him...if I knew he was alive. I miss him. I need him.

After all that stuff happening, living in the same town was horrifying. So, I ran away to a different place when I was 15. I started working a part time job as a cashier at a gas station, but I quickly got that changed after dealing with the worst society had to offer. So I started stocking the shelves, as I couldn't quit my job, I needed the money.

Oh, what am I doing now? Overthinking, sitting on my couch, and listening to music. Whenever I start dwelling over things and can't bring myself back, I always do something to wake me up a bit, but I felt too lazy to get up and do it.

So I guess I'll just have to improvise.

I roll up my right sleeve, revealing a large number of straight gashes running down my arm. I run my fingers gently over the newest one on my wrist before quickly pressing down hard on it, feeling a sharp surge of pain rush through my wrist.

"F-Fuck-!" I grunt, shaking due to the pain. This was more painful than I had intended. Normally I'm good at this. I look back at my wrist and notice that I had accidentally opened the wound back up. I was bleeding pretty badly.

I rush over to the bathroom and run my wrist under cool water, grabbing some linen from the medicine cabinet. I keep holding pressure on the wound, waiting for the bleeding to slow down. When it eventually did, I started wrapping the wound with the linen. I needed to make this look like a cut on my hand, so people don't get suspicious. So, I began the process.

"Around the wrist, up the hand, over the thumb and stop at the knuckles."

I always remembered those words from the janitor at my old school. He wasn't necessarily the best role model, but he taught me some pretty useful things. You could say we were friends.

I look down at the four rings on my left hand. He gave me those before he died. He was bleeding out in the hallway as he handed me these rings.

"Listen kid. I want you to have my rings. Put one of them on each finger of your punching arm. They work almost the same as brass knuckles." He held his rings out to me. I took them and slid them on my left hand's fingers, feeling the engraved words on them.

"Atta boy. Now, I need you to do a favor for me. There's a gun in my hideout. I need you to take that gun and kill these nasty kids. If you see any other kid with a gun and a nasty look, you kill them. Got it?"

"...O-Okay...but where's my friend?"

"I...I don't know kid. I want to tell you that he's alive, but I don't know. Now, go get these kids. For me. For your friend."

"Are you...gonna die?"

"...I don't know. Just go kill them."

I finally snap out of the flashback, and I'm hunched over the sink, staring into the mirror. I decided that I've spent enough time in here, so I turn the lights off and head back to the couch.