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Summary
This was his choice. He wasn’t saying anything to anybody. After all, he wasn’t dying as a hero, but his death would be so fucking poetic. A flower in his chest, and in the end, it wouldn’t be a bullet that brought down Voltron’s weak link.
Nah. Fate decreed it would be a flower. And Lance laughed at the irony of it.
(Or the Hanahaki fic I wrote. I'm so sorry.)
