JojIan oneshots

21

It hurts.
And Joji doesn't want to hold on anymore, it just to much work. But he has to. Because there's four people he's living for, and even if he feels like he's a burden to them, he doesn't want to make them angry.
Even though he does that everyday.

-

There's a razor blade hidden in a broken pencil sharpener. Scratch that, there's two. And a tiny screw in case he has to fix it. There's also a wad of toilet paper in there to clean up the mess.
He always makes a mess with things like that.
But that's how he likes it. A sharp and fresh razor, deep cuts, painful scabs, and then ugly scars. It reminds him how fucked he is. How terrible he must be to do that to himself.
And the only person to have ever seen the full extent was his ex girlfriend, and then Joji dumped her because who would want the shame of having a gay boyfriend?
Joji was a very flawed boy after all...

-

Joji realized that he must bother his friends. It's always to late at night that he texts them, panicking and filled with sadness. And it's always the morning after that they never reply. That's one friend down.
Only three to live for now. How sad.
And Joji wishes it didn't have to be like that, he wishes he could be happy with them. He wished he could wear short sleeves shirts without his scars and confidence getting in the way. He wished he could take pictures making silly faces like everyone else does. But no, Joji hates everything about himself.
And everyone else around him must to.
God he's such a fuck up.

-

Joji hasn't talked to one of his friends in forever, he feels like she doesn't need him. Like she doesn't like him at all.
And Joji understands that.
He doesn't like anything about himself after all, why should someone else?
Another friend down, only two more left.
He wants it to last.

-

The cuts are getting worse and Joji is enjoying it to much. His arms are scared and his thighs look like a war zone.
But it's art.
The way the lines crisscross in the ugliest of ways, it the way the words he carved into his thigh are still readable, even after all this time.
It's wonderful.
And Joji doesn't like the romanticizing of things like that on other people. But on himself? God it's glorious.

-

Joji fakes illness just to get out of going anywhere with one friend. He's terrible, why does he do this? Why does he hurt people like this? They don't talk to him anymore, and Joji understands that.
And now it's only one.
And she's beyond gone.

-

She still talks to him, yes, but she's never really there if that makes sense. It's like she doesn't want to talk to him.
And Joji doesn't want to talk to himself a lot of the time.
It's understandable.

-

Joji lies in his bed. Surrounded by things that are to feminine for his liking. But it's all oddly comforting. The blanket he had tossed over his body doesn't warm him. No, it only reminds him how cold he really is.
And Joji remembers the belt that's under his bed. He's tempted to climb down the ladder to get it, to stop bothering everyone once and for all.
But his mom is still awake, and that's a big problem. She might walk in, and she would be sad that she couldn't make him feel anymore worthless than he already feels.

-

Joji remembers the razor blades.
And the belt.
And the pills that are in the kitchen.
It his dad's gun.
Or the fact that he can open the screen door to his window and jump the 3 stories and (maybe) catch a tree in the way down.
And the paint that's obviously toxic.
It's all so easy.
And Joji decides it's all to much.
The nagging voice in his head just keeps on telling him to do it, but he's kind of scared.
What if his friends really do care about him?
They don't. His mind tells him.
They never did and they never will. It's all a stupid game and he's the one who got played in the end.
So he takes the belt. And he puts he loop around his neck, it's cold.
Just like him.
And he tied a knot on the top bar on his safety guard on his loft bed. He slips out of his makeshift noose, to write a note. To explain it.
And he grabs the razors,
Oh how nice they are.
Cold.
They're so cold that Joji doesn't even feel them break the skin. He can feel the blood spring up but nothing more.
And that's how it's always been.
A little bit of pain,
And then nothing.

Joji feels so alone.

He feels so broken.

So abandoned.

Like no one ever did care, and he was just there for show.
Just there to become another number on the chart of teen suicides. And he hates that he isn't out to his family yet.
Maybe

Maybe he just hates himself.

And the belt is around his neck again. He pushes his chair back, and his body snaps down. His neck breaks, and there's no pain.

Only nothingness.

Just like before. But this time it's better.
It's prettier.

All because he knows that his friends can finally be happy.
They can finally have peace without him.
And how sweet is that?

-
-
Ian is in pain when he reads Joji's letter. He felt so alone, and he wasn't there to help. If only he'd made a move to love him,
If only.