sympathy is regret.

you're sympathetic. he always hated that and that saviour complex of yours. it always get you hurt and he hates it.

seeing you now standing there with your head bowed slightly, your hand around the shrapnel sunk on your gut, was something he fears most.

and as our eyes meet, you smiled, like you're reassuring him and yet your eyes sparks a different story, telling him something else that is not i'm fine.

like you're saying goodbye.