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“You guys want me gone that bad? Okay. One last stream. Then, I’m gone for good. I’ll make sure of it.”
Ludwig found this clip from Jerma’s last stream floating around every platform. It was a reminder that Jerma existed. He hadn’t spoken to him in a long time, and not many people talked about him anymore.
His voice sounded strange. Ludwig couldn’t tell if it was because he hadn’t heard it in a while, or if it had changed, or if he sounded that different when he was crying. It was rough and flat and not Jerma at all.
Ludwig paid no mind to the clips he was seeing. Jerma was retiring. That was all he was saying. Then, after seeing the clip for the fifth time on Twitter with the caption ‘He’s gonna kill himself live’, he started to worry. Maybe, he was. But Jerma wouldn’t do that. He would never ever do that.
He tried to forget about it, but it continued to nag him, gave him a bad gut feeling. And he never mentioned Jerma in his streams anymore, but he needed more opinions about it. No one really had anything to say about it online except ‘Thank God’.
“What d’you guys think about Jerma’s last stream?” Ludwig asked his chat, swaying from side to side on his chair.
The majority of the messages expressed indifference, apathy, relief.
“Do you guys think he’s gonna hang himself live?” Ludwig said in a light-hearted, joking manner.
He skimmed the messages popping up. People saying he’s too much of a pussy, people saying they hope so, a rare few people saying that that was an awful thing for Ludwig to suggest. Until a username caught his eye.
Jerma985: statistical fail rate too high
Ludwig’s stomach dropped at the message. He was watching. He still watched Ludwig’s streams.
“What does that mean?” Ludwig asked him.
The chat spammed their own answers, but Jerma seemed to be thinking long and hard about it. He didn’t answer for almost a minute of Ludwig reading horrible things about him.
Jerma985: it means take another guess
Ludwig decided he didn’t want to spend his stream understanding what Jerma was saying, and changed the topic awkwardly. He knew he was acting off for the remainder of the stream, so he ended early.
He didn’t have time to be thinking about Jerma’s welfare twenty-four-seven, so he shoved it to the back of his mind. It seemed like everyone else had too, because Ludwig didn’t hear anything about Jerma for a long time.
That is until Jerma’s tweet was floating around. He saw a screenshot of it first posted by someone calling him an attention-seeker. The tweet was captioned ‘Streaming at 6. Warning for gore and blood’ with a photo of a very real-looking pistol. Was this for some kind of fucked up bit?
No, something stirring in Ludwig’s gut was telling him that this was not just a realistic gun, that the gore and blood would not be SFX, that Jerma had completely lost his mind. This was not some cry for help. This was not a threat. This was him following through.
Ludwig checked the time. He had four hours to get to Jerma before the stream started. If he had to speed, if he had to run red lights, if he had to do a hit and run; it did not matter. He grabbed his keys, crammed his feet into his shoes, and sprinted out the door.
--
Ludwig slammed his fists against the steering wheel in tear-filled rage at the queue of cars in front of him. His phone told him it would take another hour and a half to get to Jerma’s house, and it was already five. He called Jerma on Discord over and over, messaged him over and over. But there was no response.
When Ludwig finally got out of the traffic jam, he couldn’t risk attempting to call Jerma anymore, and just focused his attention on speeding and praying there were no police around.
The hour flew by too fast, but Ludwig wasn’t losing hope. He’d gained time speeding, and was twenty minutes from Jerma’s house at five to six.
Alas, for once, the bastard was actually early. Ludwig joined the stream on his phone at six when he was five minutes in. On his chair in the middle of the room. His hands dangled between his knees, and held loosely in one was that pistol he’d displayed on Twitter.
--
Jerma watched the viewers crawl in. From where he was sitting, he had to squint to see the chat, but it wasn’t like anyone would be saying anything worth reading. They were either mocking him or telling him to stop, and he didn’t care about either of those.
“I went out specially to buy this,” Jerma explained. “I’ve never bought a gun in my life.”
He leaned in slightly to read what people were saying. They were laughing at him. They were not taking him seriously. It was brilliant. He would show them. He would fucking show them.
For a while, he just talked about whatever, ignoring the chat completely. Like his own podcast. He was waiting. Gathering as many viewers as possible. There was the risk that his stream would be taken down before he could pull the trigger. All he needed to do was balance it.
--
Ludwig found the house, and tried the door. The paranoid freak locked his house during the day even when he was in it. Ludwig swore aloud. He kicked up the mat, searched the plant-pots, but had no luck. Not a spare key in sight.
From his phone, he heard Jerma say, “You guys still think the gun is fake?” He panicked, and hammered his fist on the door as hard as he could. It would have hurt him if he didn’t have nothing but adrenaline running through his veins.
A few seconds later, he heard his banging from the stream. Jerma’s head whipped around in bewilderment.
Ludwig opened up the chat on his phone to type: it’s me. open the door. i wanna talk
Jerma turned his head back to his monitor, and seemed to notice Ludwig’s message. He was silent for too long, but ended up ignoring it anyway.
“What’s the best way to shoot myself?” Jerma asked casually. “Do I stick it in my mouth, or hold it to my temple?”
Ludwig slammed his body into the door with all the force he had. He kicked at it right by the doorhandle like he’d seen in movies. Either the movies were wrong, or this was a strong door.
In the end, Ludwig found the closest rock to him, threw it through the closest window, and stuck his hand through the hole he’d made to open it. His arm brushed the glass, which gave him a pretty deep gash, but he barely noticed it in his panic.
Ludwig leapt through the window, narrowly avoiding the broken glass on the floor, and scrambled to his feet to find Jerma’s office. He sprinted for the stairs, grabbed the bannister, and was frozen in place at the sound of a loud bang. He couldn’t move from where he was. The panic disappeared, replaced by cold numbness, because he knew. He knew he was too late. He knew he hadn’t been quick enough.
Moments after, the gunshot played through his phone, and he looked at the screen to confirm what was so obviously true.
Jerma slumped forward, and crumpled on the floor in front of his chair. The blood poured from the side of his head like a spout.
Ludwig knew he shouldn’t go look for the body. He knew he should call the police, and leave it alone. But his legs were carrying him to where he heard the gunshot. He couldn’t feel his body move. The metal door handle wasn’t cold against his palm as he pushed it down.
He stepped into the room, and saw him. A surreal sight of someone he saw, walking and talking and smiling and laughing, lifeless on the floor. Like he wasn’t even a person anymore. Ludwig didn’t feel anything about it. Why didn’t he feel anything?
The post-adrenaline exhaustion washed over Ludwig as he went to kneel beside Jerma’s body. Ludwig pulled Jerma onto his lap. He was still warm, still felt alive. And, when his head tipped back, he groaned softly. Ludwig gasped.
“Jerma?” He asked hopefully despite the way Jerma’s glazed eyes stared, unseeing, at the ceiling. “You’re okay. I’m right here. I won’t leave you ever again. I’m sorry.”
He took Jerma’s hand in his, and felt his fingers twitch around it. Relief and elation burst through his body. He hugged Jerma to his chest. Jerma moaned softly.
“I’ll fix everything. I’m sorry I wasn’t here to help,” Ludwig sobbed into his shoulder. “I didn’t see the signs. It’s my fault.”
Jerma didn’t reply.
“Talk to me, Jeremy.” He let him back down onto his lap. “I’m so sorry. Do you forgive me?” He turned Jerma’s head to face him. “Do you?”
Jerma stared through him, jaw hanging open. Blood poured down the side of his face, and curved round his jaw. Ludwig frowned at the hole in the side of his head. It was small. It didn’t look that bad.
“Does it hurt?” Ludwig held Jerma’s face in his hands. Blood ran over his fingers. “Do you need an ambulance?”
No response.
“I’ll get you cleaned up,” he muttered, eyes falling to Jerma’s parted lips. “I’ll get you whatever you need.”
Before he knew what he was doing, his lips were pressed to Jerma’s. His tongue was unsettlingly lukewarm, and tasted of booze. But Ludwig was too relieved that Jerma was alive to care.
“I’ve always wanted to do this,” Ludwig breathed against his lips. “I’ve always wanted to fuck you, but you know that, don’t you?”
Jerma’s head fell onto Ludwig’s lap, face turned into his crotch.
Ludwig worried at his lips between his teeth. He wanted to feel Jerma’s mouth on him, but he’d just attempted suicide. It was too early. Later, he’d do it. After Jerma had recovered. Once they’d settled down together. He didn’t want to take it too fast. Especially when Jerma was this ill.
“I’m so glad I was here to save you this time,” Ludwig said. “I’m so glad I’m old enough. I was given a second chance at this.”
Jerma said nothing.
“Hey, c’mon, stop staring at my dick,” Ludwig complained. “It’s an adrenaline erection. You can’t tell me you’ve never gotten one of those.”
He chuckled, and looked away – only to notice why Jerma was so intent on keeping his face pressed into Ludwig’s crotch. He, too, seemed to be in the mood, judging by the bulge in his trackies. And, well, if they both wanted it, why not?
“Could I, maybe, fuck your mouth?” Ludwig lifted Jerma’s head a little, and Jerma’s mouth widened. “Fuck, thank you, Jeremy.”
Eager, he pulled out his erection, easing it gently into Jerma’s mouth. Jerma took it all the way without a single gag. Ludwig swore softly as he rocked his hips. It felt good, and the wet sounds Jerma’s throat made were driving Ludwig crazy.
“We can do this, and then we can clean up, and I’ll take you home,” Ludwig said. “Away from here.”
Away from the blood-stained carpet, and blood-spattered walls. Away from the gun that lay uselessly on the floor. Away from the alcohol that would ruin him.
“Fuck, and we can do this more often,” he went on. “Your mouth feels so good. You must do this a lot, huh? You don’t have a gag reflex.”
With his hands in Jerma’s hair, he fucked himself harder down his throat. Used his face as a flesh-light. He couldn’t stop himself. Jerma looked so pretty. Even with the blood caked around his head. Even with how pale his skin was getting. Even with the way he stared, unblinking, into space.
Eventually, Ludwig had to force himself to stop before he’d end up cumming. He pushed Jerma’s face away. His head landed on the floor with a thud.
“Shit, sorry, did that hurt?” Ludwig asked.
Jerma didn’t reply.
“I’ll make you feel good now too,” Ludwig told him.
He straddled Jerma’s lap, and pulled his trousers low enough to press their erections together. As he stroked them both, he leaned a hand on Jerma’s chest. Jerma groaned once again.
“That feel good?” Ludwig said breathily.
Jerma didn’t make another noise.
“Talk to me, please,” Ludwig whined. “Please-please-please. Say my name. Say something to me, please.”
Nothing.
“Or touch me.”
He grabbed Jerma’s wrist, and wrapped his hand around their cocks instead. It was soft. Pleasant to rub against himself.
“Fuck, that’s good,” Ludwig murmured. “That’s so good. I’m so close, Jerma. Fuck.”
He leaned more weight on Jerma’s chest, and Jerma made a sound like he was choking.
“I’ll suck you off when I’m done if you want,” Ludwig assured him. “I wanna make you feel good.”
He doubled forward when he came on Jerma’s fingers, resting his head against the man’s shoulder as he came down. His body relaxed. Mind unfogged. All his sensations returned. He felt like he was in his body again, aware of his surroundings. Like everything unblurred.
And, as he sat up and looked at the person beneath him, he knew it was not Jerma. This was a corpse. An ‘it’. One that he just throat-fucked, and came on. He lifted his head, catching sight of his face in one of Jerma’s monitors. The stream was still live.
The nothingness returned to him, and he let his body move by itself. Pick up the gun, hold it to his own head, and pull the trigger.
Ludwig’s corpse collapsed on top of Jerma, lungs rattling into Jerma’s unhearing ear. Ludwig stared, sightless, at the side of Jerma’s head, and Jerma stared, sightless, at the ceiling.