There's a first time for everything.

David Radford rarely had firsts. He didn't do much except go to work and sleep. He knew what brands of drinks he liked, the right carton to smoke, what movies made him feel better... So why mix it up? Why through a wrench in his fragile system?

Obviously, surviving a death trap is a giant monkey wrench thrown at the entire thing, and it came tumbling down. David didn't know how to exist for the longest time. His routines didn't provide the same comfort anymore. He couldn't be who he was before the incident. It just made him feel even worse. Things got put out of place.

You were one of them.

Friends, but kind of not for years, David grew attached to you because you, too, had your fair share of Jigsaw related trauma. As sick as it sounded, watching you fall and crumble regarding your own trap made it better. He could remain anonymous and still get the support he needed from you.

Support wasn't just what he needed, though.

He found that out the hard way when you'd agreed to stay the night. He'd been having nightmare after nightmare and finally gathered the courage to call you over, if only for a while. You make it better.

Drinks and blunts were passed until his lips came tumbling onto yours— Bitter and sharp, mouth tasting of nicotine, alcohol, lips surprisingly plump.

"...Oh," was all he could manage to stutter when he pulled away, hot breath fanning across your lips.