At the beginning, Revie didn’t care much about the student who had tried to kill himself. 

It was around 1 am when his phone started blowing up with messages while he was studying in his bedroom. He closed his books, pushed them on the side of the desk and started scrolling through the university group chats, with an impassive expression. He couldn’t understand how people could feel empathy for a complete stranger. He wasn’t upset, or sad, or worried; to be honest, he was just curious to know how the guy had attempted it, hoping someone would drop details. But everyone was too busy asking why it had happened, who knew him, and whether someone should contact his family.

The chat flooded with shocked reactions and performative sympathy.

"Thank God he's fine", someone wrote. Revie rolled his eyes.

He tried to kill himself - he’s not fine, Veronica.

The fact that he’d survived his attempt was the only real tragedy, in Revie’s opinion.

He smiled, almost burst into a laugh. When it was his turn to wake up in the hospital and realised he survived, Revie had felt so pathetic. I can’t even kill myself, he had thought. He wanted to say that out loud, but it just felt wrong doing it next to his sobbing aunt. He just said he was sorry.

A message from Sarah B. cut through the noise 

"I’m Bastian’s neighbor, he’s fine now. He has been hospitalized and he’ll be better soon. Please, respect his privacy."

That text suddenly caught his attention. For a moment, the whole chat froze, as if everyone was staring at that text sent at 1:25 am. People started texting again a few seconds later, but Sarah B. added nothing more.

Revie put it together. Bastian. Bastian… The bartender.

Had someone mentioned his name earlier without him noticing? How had it taken him so long to realize it was Bastian? 

Suddenly, he started caring about the fact that a guy tried to kill himself. Because he saw that guy a few hours earlier, at the pub and he challenged himself to have sex with him.

His mind felt silent, as he was processing. Revie put his phone on the table, turning off the notifications. There was no indifference anymore. He couldn’t describe how he was feeling - maybe unsettled?

He had been right about Bastian’s eyes that night. The sadness, the distress. The pain had been far more real than he’d realized. It felt almost as if he’d witnessed the attempt and done nothing to stop it. He didn’t actually feel guilty, but he couldn’t banish the thought. 

He wanted to ask Bastian out that night. Why did he change his mind? Would it have made a difference if he’d walked up to the counter and talked with him? 

What would you do if you were planning to kill yourself and someone flirted with you? he asked himself. He wasn’t sure of the answer. It depends on the person, he thought - such a cliché response, but fair enough. 

It was just stupid to ruminate about that. If Bastian wanted to die, he would have done it regardless. A simple "Hey, how’s it going?" wouldn’t have saved him. 

“Oh, Bastian” he whispered, staring at the phone on the desk. “We’re more similar than I thought.”

Ignoring the unread messages, he opened his photo gallery and scrolled until he found a photo of Bastian he’d secretly taken at the pub a few days prior. He loved that long, blond hair.

"Fuck," he muttered with a slow smile. He unbuttoned his pants and let them drop to the floor. "I know I shouldn’t do this. At least you’re not dead - otherwise, this would be worse, right?"

He closed his eyes and began touching himself, picturing Bastian soaked in blood.