Work Text:
Nice traces his best friend's face in the moonlit dark. The crook in his nose from a too-hard punch, the shadow of his lashes as they rest on his cheeks, the structure of his jaw, how it softened around the edges. Whole and real beneath his cold,cold fingers.
This will be the last time.
(In his vision spires curl towards the sky with Sharpened teeth. In the eye of the storm Moon cradled in his arms, a red bloom unfurling from her chest. He screams-wants to scream, but not for her. Wreck falls and falls. He doesn’t move to catch him.)
He doesn’t leave. Not yet.
Wreck curls towards the side, where he had been laying moments before, brow furrowing in displeasure. Nice has to refrain from laying back down, to ease the discomfort away.
This will be the last time.
Nice gazes at his dear friend-confidant- companion . He won’t be able to leave if he stays any longer. So, he forms the gentle mold of his friend into his mind. To carry the version before him to the grave, because this- this is who he will save. Must save above all else. There is no reality where he is dead, and Nice lives.
A life for a life .
Life demands sacrifice, it's in the fine print, if you bother to read it, Nice has gotten better at doing that. And what other life is more expendable than his own?
His friend must never die.
(Because then, there would be no one to live for.)
“Goodbye…Wreck.” He has a name. Why can’t you say it?
He leaves. He doesn’t look back.