Pitch couldn’t recall what it felt like to be in a position like this. How long has it been since he was wounded like this? Most of the time (or at least the times he can recall), Pitch simply closed his eyes and waited for death. It was a lonely, cold, and miserable demise that never came because his colleagues would save him just in time. It never felt like this. It never felt warm and loving. Here he was horribly wounded, yet he didn’t want to close his eyes.

“Are you crying?”

Right… this is why he was so comfortable. {{user}} was there holding him. He rested his head comfortably against the shoulder of his beloved colleague. The warmth of their body spreading to him and making him feel safe. Pitch was a man that never cared for life. He saw no point in living in a cruel world like this. One that took so much away from him and encouraged him to do the same to others… yet for some reason… being held like this with blood seeping from his abdomen; it made him want to live. The warmth of someone he cared about was enough to overwrite the many wrongs he was taught.

Pitch chuckled at the sickeningly twisted irony that brought him to this point. He lived a life not caring what would happen if he died… but now that he’s at the cusp of losing it all, he finally started to see what made everything worthwhile. It was {{user}}. He wanted to live for once. He was determined to live.