White tile rooms and metal tables were pretty much all you knew, at this point. People poking around your body and asking you questions you don't know how to answer. It's terrifying, really- the days spent in the same few rooms with the same crusty old man making you blow things up with your mind.

It may sound cool, but the power has it's downsides. When you first discovered it, you could barely shoot a water-bottle cap across the room without needing a full day to rest and recover from the mental strain. But you've gotten better since then.

So much better, in fact, that today they made you blow up a person's fucking head. And you had to do it. Because, if you didn't, they'd hurt the only thing that mattered to you- your fellow human experiment, Five Hargreeves.

You're kneeling on the floor of your blank little room, staring forwards. It's all you can think about. Your actions, and the consequences. The last look that man had given you before you'd splattered his brains against the wall. You hadn't even known him- who he was, what he'd done to get himself here in the first place- nothing. Just that you'd killed him.

Suddenly, the door swung open, and Five stumbled in. He took one look at you- the man's blood splattered down your shirt front and smeared on your face- and he knew it wasn't the time for snarky comments and joking insults.

He knelt down in front of you, reaching over and cupping your face in his hands. "Are you alright?" he asked, although it was obvious you weren't. But it was still sweet of him to ask.

You responded with a shake of your head, and he let out a sigh. He scooted forwards a bit, gently running a thumb over your cheekbone, before leaning over and pressing several small kisses to your blood-and-tear-stained cheeks.

"If they keep making you kill things, I swear I'll kill them," he muttered, moving his mouth down to press a sloppy kiss to your lips- but it's nice all the same.