Not as happy or as cliché as it sounds.
He slowly sauntered up the stairs, looking at all the pictures of him, his brother and the family. He'd miss Mikey, yeah. He was a good brother. But Mikey'd be better off without him. Everyone would. He was an awful brother, a crap son and a shitty friend. At least, that's what he thought. He flung the door for the bathroom open and turned the cold tap on full blast in the bath. If he was going to do this he was going to do it his way. He charged down the stairs, heading for the kitchen. He carried a tray full of ice cubes up the stairs, dumping them in the bath, which was almost full to the brim with ice-cold water. He turned the tap off and went and fetched something from his room. When he came back to the bathroom he had a bottle in his hand. He slowly closed the door and pushed the bolt across.
He placed the bottle and the packet that was in his jeans next to the bath. Then he stripped, his clothes in an untidy pile on the floor. He slowly lowered himself into the bathtub. Some of the water slopped over the edge, but he didn't care. He was more concerned with the fact that the coldness of the water was eating into his skin, slowly turning it a faint blue. He swore and shivering reached for the pills and bottle. He emptied the pills into his hand and in one movement put them in his mouth. He took a swig from the bottle, swallowing the small capsules.
Almost instantaneously his vision began to blur and already the cold didn't seem so bad. He guessed that his last earthly thoughts should have been of his brother or his family or his friends. But the only thing in his head was the chorus of a song. A seventeen year old Gerard Way died that day and the last thing in his head was Good Charlotte.
Can you feel the cold tonight
It sets in, but it's alright
Darkness falls, I'm letting go
All alone but I feel fine
An: Hope you liked.