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“I wanted you,” he says, blood spilling from his lips along with the words. His mouth feels like an open wound, one that will never close, never stop bleeding. “I think you knew that.”
“I did.”
Simple. Raw. An admission — a condemnation in its own right, worse than a death sentence. Finney has had enough of them.
Or dead men might tell no tales, but dead boys certainly do.
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Bookmark Notes:
so bittersweet im choking to death
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Bookmark Notes:
WHEN I SAY THIS IS THE BEST FIC I HAVE EVER READ I MEAN IT OMG IT MADE ME CRY JT MADE ME LAUGH IT MADE ME SCREAM AND SQUEAL I CANT EVENN. WORDS CANNOT EXPRESS MY LOVE FOR THIS