Work Text:
cesar had been released from the hospital two weeks ago. he was completely unaware – until recently – that someone he loved died.
he didn’t know what to do, or how to really feel. he was devastated, hurt, sad, all of the above. if there was an option to, cesar would have traded his life for mark’s.
his mother was dead, too. the blame was rightfully on the alternates.
cesar steadily twirled a dying rose in his hand. it was his favorite flower. he loved how bright roses were, how beautiful they were. he liked to think himself as one.
well, he was dying like the rose.
he wishes he had been there for mark, instead of calling the cops in a panic after seeing his mother’s horrifically wounded corpse lie still on the tiled kitchen floor. cesar never had a good relationship with his mother, so he wasn’t too upset about her passing.
but he was obviously distraught at the news of mark’s death. mark was more than a friend, more than a best friend, – he was a lover. his lover. cesar was mark’s, and mark was cesar’s.
the police said it must’ve been suicide. but cesar didn’t wanna believe that. why would mark want to kill himself? sure, they had to sneak around in secret and fear almost constantly that someone from the church might catch and out them. but cesar always made sure to remind mark how loved he was.
cesar was convinced an alternate killed his boyfriend.
it hurt to talk now. cesar raises his unoccupied hand and gently felt at the bandages around his throat. he remembers it so vividly, how it hurt and the feeling of his insides escaping his own body. the alternate that laughed and taunted him after the cops had been called. cesar was really luck that the police arrives in time.
well, mark wasn’t.
cesar was angry with the police. he wanted to yell at them and scream how much of a failure they all were to neglect a teen calling for help.
the rose falls from his other hand. cesar watched it fall to the dry grass. he raised his shoe and crushed it. he was no rose.
he stood up from the cold bench. the town was colorless, quiet; empty. he could easily count about five people walking around and at least two cars parked to the sides of the road. it was reasonable. it was late out here.
cesar frowned. he and mark used to enjoy sitting beneath the dark night sky, pointing out constellations. mark would get most of them wrong, though. but cesar always praised the other boy when he did get a constellation correct. mark had grown to love the stars because of cesar.
cesar dragged his feet along the sidewalk now, forcing himself to the same home that cursed him, his mother and mark.
if time travel was a thing, he would go back in time.
to change mark’s fate.