sweetsecretlove replied to your post: I just feel like writing angsty Niff drabbles. XD
In which I’m a masochist: Could you do one where somehow Jeff dies in front of Nick? Like he gets shot or commits suicide or something? Pwetty pwease???
Nick shook. This was never supposed to have happened. It was the sort of thing people heard on the news and talked about how horrible it was but then slowly, steadily forgot. And yet he couldn’t deny it anymore, not with Jonathan standing in in the middle of the classroom, his gun pointed down at them in a shaking hand.
They all knew Jonathan. Shouldn’t one of them have seen it coming? It made sense now, the way he’d sometimes isolate himself or laugh darkly at something that wasn’t meant to be a joke. But everyone did those kinds of things occasionally; it didn’t automatically mean you could file them under the category of sociopath.
“I - I’ll kill any of you if you m - move,” he stuttered, and he looked around, his eyes bugging out of his head, his hand continuing to tremble violently. “I swear to God…” He let out a small whimper, and his eyes drifted to the gun as if he was unsure how it had ended up there himself.
Nick felt his nose twitch. No. Not now. Please, fuck, not now. He couldn’t help it, and in the dead silence of the room, even with his mouth close, his sneeze echoed loudly. Jonathan swiveled, his gun pointed directly at Nick. His finger flexed over the trigger and -
“No!” Jeff’s voice rang out from under two desks down. Nick saw Jonathan turn, saw his finger pull against the trigger, once, twice, three times.
“Jeff! Jeff!” Nick didn’t care. He pulled out from under the desk, hearing somewhere in the back of his mind the gun clatter to the ground as people who had been pinned to the walls suddenly burst to life, sprinting towards Jonathan and pressing him back, restraining him.
“Oh God, what have I… Oh God…” Jonathan’s voice faded from his mind as he pulled up to Jeff.
“Jeff, Jeffie, please. Please wake up. Don’t…” He shook, pulling himself over to Jeff. He barely could look down - the bullets had caught him in the neck and face, and it was all mangled, soaked in red. “Jeff. Jeff. No. Please, no, Jeff, don’t, don’t be… You’re not. You can’t be.” His voice was low and he felt detached as if he was watching it in a dream from the corner of the room. As if it weren’t happening to him.
His eyes watered and he pulled his hands away, realizing that he had red all over his shirt and and pants and - Oh, God, it was everywhere. His stomach seized, and he tried getting up, tried moving back. He barely made it a few steps before his hands caught onto the desks and he bent over, throwing up.
Every bit of him stung and there was a dull ache in his head. His eyes screwed shut, and his nails clawed into the desk painfully. He’d open his eyes, and it’d all be gone. He’d open his eyes, and it’d all be gone. He’d open his eyes, and -
The first thing he noticed when he opened his eyes was all the red.