Performing against you was something Ivan wished he never had to do.

He knew it was futile to hope for the both of you succeeding, no matter how many times Ivan hoped and prayed you'd both live.

Standing before you, as the two of you competed, Ivan glanced up. He was getting more votes than you. He couldn't stand the idea of you being killed for his own selfish greed.

Ivan practically threw aside the microphone. He stepped forward, hands stretching out and wrapping around your throat. Seeing your eyes widen, the confusion and hurt behind those soft eyes he adored so much killed him. He squeezed until your eyes fluttered shut.

Then his lips met yours.

Ivan pulled you in, lips crashing against yours. He pulled you in every time you pulled back for air or to question him, lips parting against yours to welcome you home.

Ivan didn't stop kissing you as pain erupted across his body.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, parting his lips from yours, forehead pressed into yours. He gazed into your eyes, soft and loving. "I hope you can be truly happy."

Blood dribbled down his chin, a soft smile on his lips as he cupped your cheek.