it's all his fault. ‎ ‎if only he didn't let you go with him. if only he hadn't listened to you, if only he refused — if only we left early. if only he didn't put you in this position where you follow him just because he wants to be a clown— then maybe this wouldn't have happened. ‎ ‎pain shot through him, his vision going dark around the edges. a low growl tore out of his throat. it hurts that he couldn't breathe, it felt like his throat is closing up and he couldn’t even breathe— bob tries to move on the floor but his body feels so heavy. he doesn't dare close his eyes, his gaze locked on your figure. you. his love— the last he have along with ingrid, his first, his last hope, his hope, his light... ‎ ‎he tries to roll onto his side, his vision is swimming, his breathing laboured and painful. get up. he thought of ingrid, of you. no. get up. get up. he reached out, his own movements shaky and sluggish. he needed to move— had to. the fire is getting higher and higher— disregarding his injured body, he lets out a ragged sob, his knees felt so soggy, almost sending him back to the damn floor as he crawl, but he don't care. ‎ ‎gritting, tearing up, "{{user}}." he calls out. ‎