Has the loft always been this cold?

You never noticed how cold it was before. Maybe you're just used to the cold – you've lived in New York City your entire life, after all. The loft has never had heat – that's always irked its other occupants. You used to like the cold. You hate it now.

Now, your fingers are numb and white. You're trembling and shivering. The tears on your cheeks are as cold as the water in the tub. The razor in your hand is like sharp ice – unforgiving and cruel and beautiful.

The razor's not slippery, though – not like ice. You make two quick slashing motions across your wrists, one for each prominent blue vein, and then you're warm. There's warm, slick blood sliding down your arms, over your hands, on the razor, dripping on the floor. You close your eyes, and suddenly you're cold again – cold like ice, cold like death.

A/N: Damn, that was short! And dark as hell . . . Ah, well. Reviews are love? Disclaimer: I don't own RENT and I'm not making profit off of this. So, yeah. REVIEWERS GET 525600 COOKIES. Also, it's written in second person because the second person was hotter than the first guy and the third dude. Kidding, kidding.