Work Text:
When the final threads of darkness slither from your ankles, you think it might be over.
You are so, so wrong.
You stare at the crumpled form on the ground, clothes sliced and blood staining the floor below him. It’s significantly less blood than you would expect, and you know that They fed from his pain.
That doesn’t make anything better.
You didn’t know what you were doing- what you said, what They said- you didn’t want this to happen. You didn’t.
You can’t tell him that, though.
You can’t tell him that because he’s unmoving, chest not heaving a single breath.
You don’t know when you dropped to your knees, when you turned his body to face you, but you did. You did and now you can see his face and you regret so much.
You freeze when you see his eyes- wide open, yet not seeing- and the hot tears slide down your cheeks when your gaze finds his mouth, sliced into a permanent smile.
There’s nothing you can do, so you cry.
———————————————————————————————————-
Months have passed, and you still don’t speak to anyone at work following cool, polite conversation.
You still come home and linger in the kitchen as you drink your evening tea, staring at the half-empty bag of red disks you couldn’t bring yourself to throw out.
Slowly, hesitantly your fingers reach out, and you swipe one. You serve yourself a glass of water to wash the taste of chamomile from your mouth before you replace the taste of water with cinnamon.
You force yourself away from the counter, letting the bittersweet taste fill your senses as you move sluggishly to your bedroom.
You strip yourself mechanically and replace your work clothes with one of his shirts, too large not to be baggy on your rapidly thinning frame.
You slip into bed, the disk disappearing with time and cocoon yourself in warm, fluffy blankets.
You drift off after several eternities of nothing.
After months, you still fall asleep hoping you’ll stumble into a dream bubble and find him.
You never do.