suicide isn't festive || petekey oneshot

Suicide isn't festive

It was nearly inevitable, the whole ordeal. Pete sat on the edge of the roof of his building, looking down at the passing people who were currently a couple of hundred feet below him. A string of envy emitted through his chest, and he questioned for a moment whether or not he should go through with his plan. None of the people down there would commit to such a cowardly end. They surely wouldn't throw themselves off of shitty apartment complexes to prove to their friends and family that yes, something was fucking wrong. No. They'd ignore the feelings and thoughts and go on with their days, just like Pete should be doing. He should've been spending the holiday with his parents, his siblings, his friends- hell, anyone, really.

On second thought, would any of his friends actually want to be with him? The annoying bastard who never shut up about his childish crush on his friend- especially to said friends himself. He would always make side comments about his body, his face, his hair, his whatever, and after two years it was sure to begin to fall into the category of annoying and at this point, probably a bit creepy. He doubted any of his friends would give a fuck. Patrick had to be fed up by Pete's constant meaningless calls coming in at three in the goddamn morning. By his mood swings caused by his oh so amazing bipolar disorder. By his constant falling in love with every damn guy or girl he saw. He had to be fed up by it.

The snow fell down onto the rooftop and a shiver ran up his spine. Chicago's ever-changing weather fucking sucked. It was either too hot or too cold. He should've brought his jacket. he'd rather die warm than his body freeze over as it rots on the street lined with wreaths and shitty Christmas decorations.

His feet were hung over the edge, his grip on the railing being the only thing keeping him from falling forward and to his death. This wasn't his first time up here, no. He had been up on the ledge many times before but never had he gotten this close to letting go. Wentz had been sitting there for at least an hour. He had thrown his phone down a little while ago. He wasn't going to let anyone talk him out of this. Not tonight. He had specifically planned for this night. December 24th. Christmas eve.

Christmas had never been pete's favorite holiday; in fact, he could barely stand the mention of it. It's not like anything traumatizing was linked to it, he just couldn't stand the capitalist themed holiday. With the large companies that built the economy constantly shoving shitty deals that made absolutely no sense in his face, the fun was drained out of him by the time he was eleven. A combination of bright lights and greed was all that fueled christmas in Pete's opinion.

He kicked his legs back and forth, the back of his shoes knocking against the glass of the building. Being up so high forced an ethereal feeling into Pete, and he couldn't quite describe why. A mixture of the fact that holy shit, if he wanted, he could end his life with a quick release of his muscles, and the happy-sad feeling that ran through his veins every time he found himself up high. Actually, thinking about it more, that might've been caused by the swirl of excitement and anxiety pooling in his guts.

He loosened his grip on the railing, feeling his body lean forward ever so slightly. A few thoughts swept through his mind as he teetered over the edge, one of which being his friend Mikey. He thought about what he would think. maybe he would miss him. Maybe he would come to his funeral and be the only one to actually mourn. Or maybe, he would fake the whole thing. He would cry, and people would pity him, because 'oh, how heartbreaking it must have been.' No. Mikey wouldn't go that low. He would probably think about how fucking cowardly Pete was. He wondered if he actually would even think about him. All Pete did was annoy the younger boy. With the extremely obvious flirting and his shitty jokes, he would be tired of himself too. Maybe this was what Mikey was waiting for. For him to just fucking finally let go.

All you have to do is let go, he told himself, focusing on a specific car below him. A red truck. In a matter of seconds, he could be down there with them, a lifeless crippled body on the street, barely recognizable due to the impact of the fall. He wondered for a brief moment what people do when they see a body on the street. Surely they'd be shocked, but of course, they wouldn't care. He wondered about the poor soul who would have to clean up his mess. Maybe it would end up getting run over. Wouldn't that be something?