Simple

Standing on the precipice of self-destruction, it's hard for him to care. He wants to throw up and he wants to pass out and he wants to take more. He wants to shove more down his raw throat, but he can't keep his eyes open. He always wanted to care about what would happen afterward, but only a few pills in he realised it was too late for that. Whatever happened, happened, and it happened because he made it.

Contradiction. Does that really matter at a time like this? With a jar of pills on the kitchen floor, in front of where he's crouched by the dishwasher. Yeah, this is romanticised, he thinks. Death next to some dirty dishes and the smell of detergent. Nothing like the gun slippery in his fingers or a razor blade perched on the vein of his wrist or a noose attached to the ceiling of his bedroom. Just some pills and lazy eyelids.

Just go, he says to himself.

In life, there is tension. Taut muscles, flooded veins, pounding heart - all at once. Neurons trying to absorb a million feelings and thoughts at once.

In death, it goes away.

It's that simple.

Things just don't have to happen anymore.

Lying on the mismatched tiles of the kitchen floor, his heart stops.

The peace is so heavy he can't move. There's a light shining on his eyelids and his retinas are burning - except they aren't really. But they should be.

He can just see it, but he can't really feel it. All he can feel is that peace. Can you stay in the same place forever and just never move again?

"Get up, Ryan."

It's a funny thing, hearing a voice you haven't heard in so long. It's like jumping back in time a million years to a moment you can barely remember, yet seem to recall so perfectly.

He gulps because he doesn't want to move. Regardless, he has to. There's no second thoughts about it. Ryan opens his eyes, pushing himself up onto his palms. He's still in the kitchen, but it's richer in contrast and colour.

Brendon is sitting on the counter, swinging his legs. They're hitting the dishwasher with small thumps. Brendon is so bright it would burn if Ryan could feel anything. He's golden, like Ryan suspects an angel would be. He just wonders where Brendon's halo is.

"Look," Brendon says, pointing. Ryan looks down at the floor, and there are the pills. "Look what you did to yourself."

Ryan's limbs are heavy, but he forces himself to move so that he can lean on the counter top.

"I just wanted to see you," he mumbles.

"You didn't use the gun," Brendon points out.

"I thought you wouldn't want to see me if I used the gun."

"I wouldn't have."

Ryan bites his lip. "I thought we'd be somewhere else."

"Like where?"

"I dunno, maybe your house. Or a park. Or heaven. I dunno."

"You're never happy with anything, are you?" Brendon sighs, sliding off the counter and onto the floor. "You're never satisfied."

"Excuse me for thinking that when I died I wouldn't be stuck in the same place. If I knew that, I would have killed myself somewhere else."

"Shut up, Ryan."

Brendon trudges into the living room and Ryan doesn't hesitate in following him despite something trying to pull him back. Each step is more difficult than the last.

"I see you didn't clean up," Brendon comments.

"I said I didn't think I'd meet you here," Ryan snaps, folding his arms across his chest.

Brendon smiles and glances around the room with an affectionate glaze to his eye. "How've you been?"

"Horrible."

"How've they been?"

"Just as bad."

Ryan is looking at the floor again.

"We've missed you."

"I've missed you guys too."

Brendon licks his lips and tries to think of something to say. It's been so long without seeing Ryan, it's hard to just sink back into conversation with him. They used to have endless conversations when he was alive. Why should that stop just because he was dead?

"Just because I'm not there doesn't mean you can't be happy, you know."

"Yeah, it kind of does."

"Ryan --"

"Well it does," he sighs. "It's just not the same."

"Things change. This could be for the better."

"Stop, Brendon. Just stop, okay? You're not helping, and you're not making it better. It doesn't matter anyway. I get to stay here. We can be here forever, you know."

Brendon looks Ryan square in the eye. "You'll have to go back soon."

"No. You can't make me." Ryan's eyes widen at this sudden, threatening statement. "I have to stay, Brendon. You can't let me go."

"I don't really get to make that decision, Ry. You know that if I did, I would have been back months ago."

Ryan glances back at the kitchen and knows that his body is there waiting for him to throw the pills up again.

"You've gotta listen to me for a second, Ryan."

"You have to let me stay!"

"You don't need to be here yet!"

"I do need to be here! Or you need to be there. It's not worth it, Brendon, it's not worth it with everyone there but you."

Brendon rolls his eyes. He's being stupid again, Ryan's always being stupid. He's getting impatient. "You don't have very long, Ryan. Just listen."

Ryan opens his mouth to object, then slowly closes it again.

"Ry, if you do this again, I won't be here."

"What?"

"Any more pills - anything - I won't be here. No next times, okay?"

"I - I... okay..." His voice is quiet. It's not convincing.

"You have to swear, Ryan."

"I swear."

"I am not having three turn to two, Ryan."

"You can trust me, you can, Bren. I'll see you again, I have to. I promise."

"Go back now."

"But --"

"Go back. They're waiting for you. And clean the place up when you get home, okay? There's too much of me in this room."

Ryan sniffs and wipes his nose. He shakes his head and leans his head on Brendon's shoulder, and Brendon wraps his arms around his shoulders. Time stops for a few moments, and it's almost like everything is the same as it used to be. Then Brendon drops his hands and time starts again, going at what feels like a million seconds at a time.

"You have to go. It'll be okay."

Ryan nods and slowly turns back to the kitchen. He starts to walk over the tiled floor and the pills, throwing glances back over his shoulder, not ready to let this world with Brendon go. He sits down by the dishwasher, but is soon lying with his forehead up against the cold floor as tears crawl down his nose.

"Miss you."

Ten seconds later, he's crying in a hospital bed.