Chapter Text
Boyfriend stares numbly at the corpse in front of him, keeping vigil as the sun continues to rise. Girlfriend had long gone home, so now only he remained. Waiting for someone… for what? To find his body? To tell his story? Boyfriend laughs, sharp and grating.
"I didn't even get to know him, how could I tell his story?" He whispers, fighting the sob building up in his chest. "He's dead. What's a story gonna get him?"
The boy who'd only seen death once before backs away from the corpse, returning to the crushed pack of cigarettes nearby. Something sharp and acidic crawls its way up Boyfriend's throat, feeling suspiciously like hatred. Like grief.
The next several minutes are spent committing violence against the cursed pack, stepping and spitting on the cardboard and smearing it into pulp on the ground with his shoe. It's catharsis, but not much of one. Garcello is dead.
And it's all his fault.
The thought comes to Boyfriend like a thunderbolt. The bitter mourning in his throat is changed to an almost feral-sounding noise, tinted heavily with hatred.
This is all Daddy Dearest's fault.
With heavy footsteps, the boy makes his way back over to the teal-haired corpse, filled with the urge to take it and hug it, as though he could fill it with warmth and life once more by giving his own.
Boyfriend's mind begins to wander as he looks at Garcello's body, looking ever so fragile in the morning light. As though if he looked away, that last remnant would fly away like soft blue smoke. He thinks about Pico, and how strong he was. He died killing Cassandra, all to protect the ones he loved. And then Girlfriend found the last remnants of her soul clinging to him and did… something to make sure she was truly gone. He'd never asked and she'd never told.
He fights back another sob, rubbing at his abused throat. They were both strong enough to protect the things they care about. Boyfriend had always been a coward compared to them, but now?
Now...
"Cello.." He whispers, kneeling in front of the corpse. "Cello, I swear. I swear I won't.. I won't let him get away with this."
Boyfriend takes off his cap, setting it on the ground as some sort of offering. Payment, perhaps, for how he dons the discarded gray hat that once belonged to Garcello.
"Don't worry. It'll," and his breath catches in his throat as he stands, "...I'll fix this."
"He won't hurt anyone ever again."
In another plane, somewhere close enough to our own, a halo cracks.