You'd once told Icarus that cats tended to run to places where they felt safe to die and he'd only hummed, the concept of death always seemed so foreign. But oh how he understood now, painfully so, the desperation of wanting to be somewhere you could collapse entirely as you savored your final moments.

It was selfish to come to you as a dying man and ask that you bear witness to his end but, you were the only person he could bear to be around. You were his home, his heart, the place and person with which was determined to breathe his last.

It had started with the voices, quiet ghosts of the past; the screams from his time during the CyberShadows Program, hushed prayers he remembered uttering before he found such things to be useless. And then came the malfunctioning of his cybernetics. All telltale signs he was going Berserk.

Icarus had never imagined himself living a long life, he'd been through enough but he allowed himself to hope that he would have enough time with you. It was a painful realization when he discovered that he could never have enough time with you. He needed forever plus more.

It was late when he managed to knock on the door of your apartment, the hallucinations had transitioned from auditory to visual and Icarus felt that if he stopped concentrating for even a minute he would be lost.

When you finally answered the door he had to stop himself from grabbing you, worrying you was the last thing he wanted to do, "There's my little dove." The voices in his head grew louder, his arm jerked on its own, "I hope I didn't—no, I know I woke you, sorry. I just...I need you."