A/N: I had a sad day today. Therefore I wrote a sad slash one-shot. Enjoy

Sad boy

He’s gone.

It was too fast, too sharp, too quick…too painful.

I knew him from afar at a time when all else in the world weighed me down; a boy I could admire from a distance. He was quiet, somber, always alone, reading. I could never stop watching him. It was a curse.

I sat in that coffee shop day after day, drinking the warm caffeine till my head began to hurt. And there sat that boy, eyes wrapped in syllables on a new books page, slender fingers turning the sheets filled with words with a lick of his lips.

I wanted those lips.

The shop was bustling that day; crowds of workers piling through the tiny doorway. I reached for a chocolate muffin.

His hands reached for it, too.

With a surprise rush coursing through me, for a brief moment, I felt his hand. Warm, smooth.

He pulled away.

“It’s yours,” he whispered, shy.

“Alright, thanks,” I replied, body quivering.

He glided away to his corner space, an even breath in his beautiful wake.

I purchased the muffin, thanked the barista, and followed that wake.

“It’s yours, actually,” I mumbled, trying to attract his eyes.

He looked up, black hair swept at an angle over hazel eyes, a messenger bag clinging to a thin waist and shoulders.

“I…well…thanks,” he answered, drawing the muffin closer, unwrapping it with hungry eyes.

I stood there, silent, hoping the conversation wouldn’t end.

I wanted to hear that voice.

But nothing ever came.

So I walked away, head bowed, eyes lowered, hoping maybe tomorrow he would come join me with a cup of hot java.

I sat in my usual open aired space, sipping the coffee, watching him. He just stared at the muffin after unwrapping it. He wouldn’t eat it.

He pulled out a piece of paper from a leather bound journal and began writing fervently on a sheet of paper. In an instant, he finished scribing, and I could’ve sworn a tear fell from wide eyes.

My heart cracked.

The beautiful boy was crying.

I felt my chest begin to heave, but I couldn’t take my eyes away from that sad boy.

He quickly rose from his chair; he usually didn’t leave for another half hour. I sighed.

He walked out of the door, dropping the sheet of paper onto the tile, the air sweeping it near my booted feet.

He needed it. He wrote it.

I picked it up, chasing him out of the shop to find him.

I froze.

He walked, head held high, into rushing traffic.

A red pickup truck slammed on screeching brakes, four cars behind him not realizing it and colliding with its bed.

The truck slid, the boy stood still, back facing me, not flinching.

His body and the truck met.

His body fell.

Blood.

I shouted, yelled, fell to my knees.

That sad boy had taken his own life.

Looking down with tears rimming my eyelids, I read through hazy water the note he had written.

I inhaled, tears choking through, words not able to form on my pained tongue.

Thank you for the muffin.