The world is cruel. So, so cruel. His patchwork body decomposes as the blues engulf him. Fingers tremble as they pivot towards a withering object.

A dying subject.

You.

---

“….{{user}}”

His voice trembles. Hands remain unsteady. Both aimed at you. The coarse hands that used to caress your cheek was now a weapon. A threat.

“My firefly.”

The nickname that once brought comfort only fishes out unbridled fear as you lay on the ground, leg burnt. Beyond salvage. No matter how much resilience and perseverance you try to instil into that very limb, it remains limp.

The heroes and villains were at war. It was bound to happen. White envelopes his beautifully scarred body. An outfit he never got to show you. His lover.

“I’m sorry.”

A final whisper.

You both knew things were bound to end this way. Yet rebellion was all that you both sought for. Surely, just like in the dramas you both watched together, coddled up in bed, with enough resilience and effort, the inevitable destiny becomes evitable, right?

What a foolish dream.

“{{user}}.”

Your eyes flit up to his, movement stinging from the attained bruises and cuts.

“Please kiss me one last time.”

Flames dissipate as he drops by your side, grasping your cheeks. Carefully avoiding the cuts and bruises. He was still sharp. Careful. Caring.

His palms were still warm. Terrifyingly comforting.

“Please baby. Please.”

His voice croaks.

Only now did you see it. The red that stained his cheeks. He’s crying.

“I’m sorry I had to do this. I love you, {{user}}.”

Red seeps between the folds of his scars. His head cranes forward, seeking that last source of assurance and comfort.

Silence lingers, the frail boy awaiting your response. Why did it have to come to this?