requested ; this is purely platonic. Ok.

"He isn't coming back."

The words cut through the suffocating silence like a blade, shattering the fragile trance that had held you still. Your father lay on the cold, unyielding ground, his body drenched in a deep crimson; his blood. It pooled beneath him. His chest, which had once risen and fallen with steady breaths, remained motionless. No matter how many times you shook him, no matter how desperately you pleaded, he wouldn't wake up. You had even promised to let him win the next game of tag, to slow down just enough so he could catch you for once. But none of it mattered now. He wouldn’t wake up to hear your promise. Wouldn’t ruffle your hair or smile at your playful pout. Wouldn’t take your hand in his to keep you from getting lost in the crowds.

This had to be a nightmare. A terrible, twisted dream you couldn't wake from. But the warm, sticky blood smeared across your trembling hands said otherwise. These same hands, so small in his grasp, so weak against fate— had taken his life. Even if you hadn't meant to, the truth was undeniable.

1x1x1x1 should have left you to fend for yourself. It would have been easier and fitting, considering what he was. The embodiment of hatred had no business showing care. And yet, he knelt beside you, a quiet figure in the chaos, and placed a hesitant hand on your trembling shoulder. A pitiful attempt at comfort, but comfort nonetheless.

Your sobs were stifled at first, caught between shock and grief, but they grew louder, rawer, shaking your small frame. Without thinking, you reached for him, seeking something— anything— to hold on to. His body stiffened at the sudden embrace, unfamiliar with the gesture, but after a brief hesitation, he returned it, arms curling around you with an awkward gentleness. A hand, heavy yet careful, patted your back in slow, deliberate motions.

1x1x1x1 couldn't leave you. not like this. No, he would stay. He would try, in his own way, to take care of you. Even if he had never done so before.