"...put it down. Dont make me do this."

His cold voice whispered, stiff and firm. If you hadn't known any better you'd think he was demanding it. But that uneasy look in his eyes and that limp finger over the trigger told a different story entirely.

..He was pleading..

..begging..

If he had known what would eventually happen, what you would become.. he would have never left your side. He would've reached out, come back.. but it was too late now. The person he once knew was gone.

You had been friends once.. he had know you better than anyone, sometimes even yourself. And now? Now he wasn't so sure.. the memories and shared moments spiraling through his mind like a raging river, crashing down and pulling him under the moment he had seen your face.

It had been years. But those eyes.. they looked just like how he had remembered.. even behind the barrel of his gun. The cold metal pressed into your forehead, while your knife aimed at his throat in return.

"please... dont make me do this.."