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Buck’s vision was starting to blur at the edges, a dark vignette creeping in like smoke. His hand fumbled for Eddie’s sleeve but didn’t quite make contact. He slumped further down, back pressing against the base of the table, trying to stay quiet. Trying not to make this worse.
His fingers came away from his chest, soaked in red.
No one had seen it yet.
And Buck couldn’t find the air to call out.
OR
The 118 only meant to attend a gala—but by the end of the night, Buck was shot, and nothing was ever the same again.
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AWWWWW
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