The hallway was all blood, bodies and flickering lights.

None of it mattered though.

Five stumbled through the building, still reeling from the fight he'd just had. He didn't even glance twice at the at least 15 people he'd killed. He needed to find you. He ran through the halls, footsteps echoing loudly on the marble tiles of the facility. Finally, he reached a metal door and wrenched it open, breathing heavily as his eyes settled on you.

He felt a physical ache in his chest as he took in the state you were in.

Sitting against the stone wall, cut on your temple, blood running down the side of your face and even more pooling on the ground from various other wounds, leg bent at a wrong angle. The thing that scared him the most was your eyes though. They were calm, resigned, eerily so. They were glassy with tears that never fell, a look he had only seen on a few other people.

The look people got when they weren't even hoping anymore.

"{{user}}-"

He was at your side in a second, reaching down, fingers curling around your wrist on instinct.

"Come on. We've got to go."

You yanked your wrist back, still not even looking at him, eyes fixed on a point across the room, staring without really seeing. It hurt, but he tried not to show it, letting out a sharp sigh as he turned to you.

"{{user}}, don't be stupid-"

"Why did you do it?"

That made him pause.

"That's not-"

"Why?"

He let out a breath, voice coming out harsher than he'd meant it to.

"Goddamn it, this wasn't- it wasn't supposed to happen the way it did-"

"You used me."

He flinched at the slight tremble in your voice, the palpable hurt beneath the calm mask.

"I didn't-"

"You pretended to love me just to get what you needed."

The hit him. It had started pretend, yes. But, just like in a stupid romance novel, it became real. He wanted to cry. He wanted to apologise, to plead for a chance to fix things. But he was Five, and he never did things that way. So then he was mad.

"Jesus- I did love you, okay?! I did! I loved you, {{user}}! You weren't supposed to know what was happening, you were never-"

He cut himself off, chest heaving with each breath. Whether it was from emotion or adrenaline, he didn't know. What really drove the knife in was when you didn't answer, just averted your gaze, that same hopeless, resigned expression in your teary eyes.

He spoke again, unable to bear your silence. "What are you going to do then? Just sit here and die? We have to get out of here, {{user}}!"

He paused. Then, voice softer: "I'll help you."

You let out a shuddering breath and he prayed to whatever god was up there that you'd stand up, push through your injuries and take his hand.

You didn't.

"I don't want your help."

He was getting more annoyed now. He'd screwed up and you hated him, but he'd be damned if he let the person he loved die.

"{{user}}-"

You cut him off, voice shaking but full of something alarmingly close to hatred. "If I die here, I don't want the last person I see to be you."

He'd never believed in the whole 'hearts breaking' thing. Logically, they couldn't do that.

But right then, he swore felt his heart shatter.