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pain. red hot pain. Mike could barely see, let alone move. he couldn’t feel his left leg. must’ve broken a bone. wasn’t the first time, but certainly the most painful one.
mustering all the strength he could, he craned his neck to look around, head pounding at the sides, boiling agony swirling inside his skull like a herd of wailing bats. everything hurt so much.
exhausted, he let his head fall back onto the cold ground. he barely felt the impact, the senses in his brain muddled up beyond the point of comprehension. he turned his head, left cheek being greeted by a warm pool of blood, still puddling, pooling, flowing from his skull.
was this the end? all he could hear was his own ragged breath. stars dotted his vision as he struggled to stay conscious. something warm trickled down his face, he wasn’t sure whether it was blood or tears, but it didn’t matter.
this wretched death game. all he wanted was to find out the person who burnt Hulabaloo to the ground. they took everything from him, and he came to the manor empty-handed, willing to sacrifice himself for answers. and of course, sweet, sweet revenge. he had nothing else to lose, until he met Norton.
it was initially the prospector’s good looks and charisma that caught his attention, but as he warmed up to him, he was mesmerised by his other side. gone was the slightly vexing, yet enticing demeanour, replaced by a type of genuity and homeliness that Mike managed to seek comfort in. they became fast friends, and then lovers, after an unexpectedly drunk Norton showed up at his room. a small smile spread on Mike’s face as he reminisced the fond memories, though it morphed into a pained grimace as the action irked the rigid stitches on his cheeks. he groaned. consciousness seemed to be slipping from his hands, and his thoughts receded into a muddled mess.
where was norton? they’d entered the match together, smiling though they knew it could be their last. so many have died before them, and possibly many more to come, yet…
Mike felt like he was falling. not the adrenaline-filled drop from a platform, the type of slow descend that resembled a feather. he felt light. nothing was holding him down. family, memories, responsibilities? none. except—
‘Mike!’
it sounded so far away.
hands grabbed his arms and pulled him up, his back resting on a shaky knee. he struggled to open his eyes.
‘Mike.’ Norton’s voice was thick with tears. Mike struggled to raise his hand. just to cup his cheek one last time, please, he pleaded.
a hand grabbed his and pressed it against warm, wet skin. ah.
‘hang on in there,’ Norton’s tears fell on his face. drip, drip, drip. they felt warm. like his cheek, Mike thought to himself. his vision was pitch black; he closed his eyes. there was no point in keeping them open anyways.
Mike opened his mouth. ‘i love you,’ he tried to say. ‘i love you so much,’ he wanted to tell Norton. but it was too late. his throat felt like sandpaper as he tried pushing the three syllables out of it, and it wouldn't budge. tears flowed down his face in frustration as he tried saying his very last words to the one he loved so much.
‘what did you say?’ Norton demanded, the quiver in his voice matching the one in his hands. ‘what did you say, goddamnit!’ he yelled. ‘fuckin’ hell, Mike, tell me,’ his voice cracked, sending a flurry of spikes into Mike’s heart. he wanted to tell him. that he loved him, and that he was sorry. but in the end, all he could do was squeeze his cheek with the remaining strength he had.
Norton’s hair brushed his face. ‘i’m sorry, Mike. i’m so sorry.’ even at times like this, he sounded nice, Mike thought to himself. he supposed it wasn’t so bad to die like this. the wind had stopped, and all he could feel was Norton holding him.
then it all went numb.