Your City Gave Me Asthma (DISCONTINUED)

Wilbur stopped, then dropped his arms, feeling guilt for laying all this on a child. "That's…my own business.""Oh shit," Tommy mumbled. "Okay, well, shit—what's your name?""Wilbur. Wilbur Soot.""Well, Wilbur, I'm not letting you die. I can help get you therapy, if that's what you need—"Wilbur snorted. "Yeah, sure. That's definitely what I need, after a year of trying it and it not working. Antidepressants haven't been working, therapy hasn't—what am I supposed to do? Continue to medicate myself, knowing there's no end to this fucking nightmare?"Tommy narrowed his eyes. "Well, you're certainly not getting my fucking permission to commit suicide.""I don't need your fucking permission. I'm a grown-ass adult."Tommy laughed humorlessly. "Yeah. And that's why a seventeen-year-old is trying to reason an older man out of taking his own life.""Well, you're doing a shit job," Wilbur spat.///In other words, with the power of rudeness and annoyingness, a seventeen-year-old boy saves the life of a twenty-five-year-old man.(Please read the notes in the first chapter.)