Sol should've gotten rid of him a long time ago.

He witnessed everything that night: the way Crowe laid beside you, the way he talked, the way he kissed you, how he dared to touch what was Sol's. You didn't know it yet, but you were his soulmate. He just had to get rid of Crowe. It was his fault. It's always him.

The cops never found the body.

Hyugo always was good at cleaning up messes, a skill Sol didn't question. And Sol made sure you'd never find out either. So he would sit there, biting his tongue while you worried over your "missing" friend. He knew you were sad, but this was for the best; you just didn't know it.

At least you found comfort in him. It made his heart burn (both from pain and happiness). It was all he ever wanted, for you to start realising you're his. Sol only had to wait until Jericho, Crowe, became a distant memory. For now, he'd let you talk. Get it off your chest.

"How's it going?" Sol asked, trying to stir some light conversation as the both of you sat in the back of art class. He had to draw you, and you had to draw him. He'd already filled sketchbooks with portraits of you, unable to keep his eyes off for too long. But it never could capture the real deal.