Dexter heard heavy cries coming from Saracen's living room, and as he peered around the corner, he saw Saracen laying by the couch. His knees were curled up to his chin. One of his hands covered his face, and the other one loosely gripped a small hand-gun. His face was pale and drained except for his rosy pink cheeks.
"Saracen?" Dexter walked closer- slowly and wearily. Saracen had jumped slightly in surprise. It wasn't like him to be so unalert. He should have heard Dexter walk in.
Saracen glanced at Dexter, "Hey." His voice was quiet and gentle, and although that wasn't entirely new, it wasn't common. Dexter had seen Saracen cry before. He was one of the few who had; Saracen kept his trauma to himself. All of the Dead Men had gone through shit, but this especially pertained to Saracen.
Dexter was at a loss for words, so he took a step forward. In response, Saracen tightened his grip of the gun and pulled it up a bit, "Stop."
"God, Saracen," Dexter through his hands up, "What are you doing?" Saracen's eyes were tear-filled, "I'm going to give up."
"Put down the gun," Dexter said. Saracen shook his head.
"I don't want to live anymore," he choked.
"Don't do it, Saracen. You're not allowed to leave me behind."
Saracen's tears were falling harder now. He scoffed, "Why can't you just let me die?"
"Because I love you, and I will never forgive you if you pull that trigger."
"You'll move on," Saracen hiccupped.
Dexter tried, "You're my best friend. I could never forget you." Saracen looked unconvinced, so Dexter continued, "I swear to god, I'll never forgive you."
Saracen choked, "I'm so sorry, Dexter. I really am."
"Don't you dare."
"I love you," Saracen whispered. A tear trickled down his cheeks.
"Please listen to me. Just put the gun down."
Saracen ignored him, and pressed the gun to his temple, "Tell me you'll forgive me."
A tear fell from Dexter's eyes now. He could not imagine his life without Saracen. His life would be missing something: Saracen. Nobody would be able to fill the gap. All he wanted in this moment was for Saracen to be okay.
"How could I forgive you?" Dexter breathed, "You belong here with me." Dexter was terrified. He was terrified of losing Saracen. "I only wish," Dexter started, "I could have been with you. I should've kissed you months ago."
Saracen looked at him like he was searching for the meaning behind Dexter's words, "What?" His voice had grown smaller and weaker as the conversation continued.
"I can't forgive for killing yourself. You have no clue what you would be doing to me," Dexter insisted. Saracen was at a loss. He didn't know what to do. He wanted to die. He would have shot himself if Dexter hadn't walked in. He needed to get it over with. Pull the trigger, Saracen told himself.
"Saracen, I don't want you to die. Please, come over here," Dexter begged.
"I can't-" Saracen sniffed, "I can't do this anymore."
"Yes you can. Just put the gun down, and let me come over there and hold you. We can do anything. It's only eight P.M."
"Please put the gun down," Dexter continued. Hesitantly, Saracen exhaled and lowered the gun, "Okay."
"Oh thank god Saracen," Dexter ran over to Saracen and hugged him hard. "I love you so much," Dexter sighed with relief. With his arms still wrapped around Saracen, Dexter unloaded the gun. He could feel Saracen's chest heaving with his sobs. Dexter's chin rested on Saracen's head. "Never do that to me again," Dexter muttered.