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He sits on a hill, side by side with his lover. He carries a wistful smile, brushing the knots and blood from the other man’s hair, before pinning it up into a neat bun, just as the other man liked.
He washes out his robes next, as best he can. Does his best to remove their scarlet stains and frayed threads. The tears in the robes are a bit of a lost cause though; he’d never had much a knack for sewing. He thinks, with a wry smile, that the other man wouldn’t much like his expensive clothing to be ruined with amateur stitching.
Lastly, he brings his lover down to a creek and helps clean the crusted blood from his pale skin. The other man is cold now, perhaps even colder than the water he bathed in, but that was no matter.
The frosty night air pools just below his heart as he works, creating a spot of ice and hollowness. He pays it no mind. It hardly matters right now.
He finishes tying up the other man’s shoulder and brings him beneath a large tree. They rest in silence.
He sits alone on a hill, cradling his lover’s hand. The night is still and cold, but he swears a breeze passes by as he lets the other man lay against his side.
That night would be the last of many things for him.
The last time he would meet with his lover.
The last time he could share an empty laugh with his best friend.
The last time he could think of strength in terms of “we” and not “I”
And, perhaps most importantly, the last time he could cling to the foolish notion that come morning, the sky would brighten as would his present, and everything would be alright once again.
But for that night, and that night only, the strongest of humanity lets himself cling to all those things, and weep over what could have been.