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He feels more than see or hears it.
He jolts awake as a peice that was so deeply intertwined with his own soul, one that had been so tightly stuck together with his own peice for so long he thought it his own, was ripped from him. He would have fallen to his knees if he weren’t laying beside his twin.
He cant stop himself though, when he lets out a schrill scream of pain, so loud and broken you’d assume he was being murdered. He isn’t able to get himself collected in enough time to do anything to save Leo. His chest metaphorically mauled as he watches his brothers carry his loves corpse, because he couldn’t do anything to save him.
He doesn’t function as they go through the routine of a funeral, his speech barely audible as the phantom pains rip through him. Taunting and egging him on as he remembers apart of him is now missing, and that he would never be able to get back.
Mikey tries everything to get him back to normal, informing him about the stages of grief, how to handle each one. He ignores it though, his cycle mostly run through by now. And even with that piece missing, his heart knows that he’ll never make it to the final stage. He can’t accept something that outlandish.
Besides, he’d been stuck at stage four for way too long, and he knows it will never get better. He knows that he’ll never be able to get help in the way he needs. He can’t go to Leo anymore, can’t curl into him and tuck his head beneath his chin as he breathes in his scent. He can’t do anything anymore.
He calls out a short call meant for his twin, hoping that maybe, somehow, he’ll get a response. But his heart just twinges painfully, it throbs steadily as the silence of NewYork settles around him. He looks at the sky, to see it twinged with purple in the horizon. His and his lovers colors paint the sky a beautiful shade, and he smiled happily at the thought that Leo was doing that for him.
He takes a sharp intake of air as he lifts his brothers sword from the ground of the rooftop, cradling it with his two marred and battered hands as if it was a new born baby. He wishes it was. That it was his and Leo’s, that they had grown old together, that they had both made it. The chuckle he lets out is bittersweet, as he traces the nicked edges of his best friends sword.
He carefully takes off his mask, tying it neatly against a somewhat similar blue one. The tails of them entwine together in the wind as he points the sword toward himself; the worn tip directly pointed at his heart.
It takes a few tries and it’s so painful as it splinters his plastron, but nothing compares to losing him, nothing ever will. He screams as he feels the warmth of his body leaving him. He hopes that Leo’s waiting for him, and when they finally reunite he’ll be ready for him.
His half-finished heart lets out one more pitiful attempt at a pulse, before it stops. And then, theirs a comforting warmth around him, and an hard plastron beneath his head. And then finally, he’s whole again.