He placed the gun to his temple. Eyes closed. He could hear his blood pumping through his veins in a hurried frenzy. Almost as if it knew of the oncoming danger. The gun's sharp edges pressed into is skin, chilling him. He felt strangely calm. The sort of calm before the storm. The sort of deep breath you take before jumping. The sort of moment of hesitation before you run away farther and farther so no one can find you.
He took a moment and looked back at his memories trying to only focus on the good so nightmares wouldn't haunt him wherever he went. Where would the son of Satan go when he died? Was it an automatic pass to Hell or did he have even the slightest chance to get to heaven? Or perhaps because he was doing himself in, He went to Hell, whether or not he was a dark angel. The good moments were far and in between, usually involving his father, but those only brought him heartache now.
He thought of her. How, no matter how hard she tried she couldn't fix him, couldn't save him, couldn't keep him from playing the unwilling part of devil's advocate. He smiled, grateful that she would be able to go on with her life without someone like him bringing her down. She could go on with his brother, the normal one, the human one; he knew they had a soft spot for each other.
He left her a note. Everything he had ever held back from her in one giant expressive imprint. Something that she should burn. He hoped she'd burn. Had told her to burn. She might have already read it. Might have already told his friends. Might have told his brother. Not that he would care. He had told him himself, he would never see him as a brother. Saw him as an abomination. A mistake, something he was very familiar with.
He looked to the left, saw his unlocked room door. Nope, no one was coming. What good would it do to lock it? He heard the main door slam open. His name was being screamed by familiar voices, "RIN!" Funny he hadn't thought anyone would show up. Better make this quick. Though he was a demon, the human part of him would respond to the projectile inside his grasp.
His trigger finger twitched, and a thunderous sound echoed around the room. The last thing he saw was out of the corner of his eye; a shadow falling to the ground. He fell to the floor, eyes glassed, heart paused forever.
Feet pounded on the stairs, his name being shrieked through the empty rooms. His friends stopped at his open bedroom door, and his brother fell to his knees screaming. Their breathing had stopped when they had seen the boy with the gun and the girl on the floor with a bullet wound in her chest. The bullet that had passed through him and into her, the Magic Bullet, was still warm.