The boy kept running through the hospital halls. What was he running from? How long has he been running for? It didn't matter. His entire body ached badly when he woke up and he was in a plain white hospital bed that hurt his head. By his side was the same grey jacket that belonged to Mark Heathcliff. Before he died, that was. The long gash on his neck urked him. He refused to talk when he woke up, only responding with one word sentences when spoken to. Cesar tripped on the IV drip stand that was attached to his hand and hit the ground, the IV drip stand falling onto him. The cold and harsh hospital floor made him wince.

"M-mierda..mier-d-da..mierda..!"

Cesar would mutter again and again as he scrambled to his feet. What was he even looking for? He didn't know. A whimper of pain tore from his throat as his hand raised to the wound on his neck, blood still staining the bandages around his neck already.

"A-agh..Darling..why did you have to end your own life..."

Cesar whispered quietly under his breath, grasping at his heart as his running slowed, his heart beating hard against his chest and his throat closing up.