snowblind style angst

[powersouls]

[They're in one of the nicer houses at the moment. Whoever lived here must have been rich, and while the place is looking a little worse for wear, it's still huge. That makes it a pain to search, but they're also more likely to find something useful.

Royce used to collect weapons almost obsessively, but Tifa doesn't think there's much point to that now. To be fair, weapons were never at the top of her list, but now there's no one to use them against. It's not like they do anything against the anomalies, after all. Personally, Tifa always holds out hope that she'll find something silly. It's fun to tease Royce, and she's secretly trying to find something even more hideous than that sweater that she can give him.

There's a big, ornate dresser pushed up against one wall that Tifa is rifling through. She's long since stopped wondering how it's possible that they can search a house and find something that they're certain wasn't there a few days ago. It's just another mystery of the town, like what keeps restocking the supply points or how the tablets stay charged. This drawer mostly seems to be a bunch of paperwork, full of bills and things she doesn't see any use in stopping to read. At the bottom, though, she finds a fake, glittery pink flower, slightly crushed but still intact. She snorts softly, pulling it out and then glances over at Royce.]

Hey, Royce.

[He should probably know by now from that tone that she's going to do something stupid.]

Comments

[bywolves]

I don't - I don't... I don't have anything -- [ He chokes out, tears spilling down his cheeks. There's nothing for him to go home to. Hadrian is dead, gone and there was nothing else, left back home. He was okay here, because he had her.

Even now, she's trying to make it easier on him. He knows it. She pushes the hair out of his face and his expression twists, his own tears streaking through the blood. There's no stopping it. It's been a long, long time since he's felt anything like this, anything this agonizing, it hurts so bad he feels like he's been run through.

He's going to be alone. That never used to bother him.

Royce pulls her close, so, so gently. Presses a kiss to her forehead, and takes her hand, linking their fingers together, pulling their entwined hands up to his lips. She's going to be gone. She'll be cold. They'll take her body away and he'll be here, and one day - one day, he'll see her again, only she'll be like Hadrian, twisted and terrible and in pain, chasing him down and ripping him to shreds.

He pulls her fully into his lap, arms wrapped around her snugly. Rests his head against hers. He won't leave her alone. Whispered, shaking: ] I'm sorry. I'm sorry, you didn't... you didn't deserve this, I'm sorry.

[powersouls]

[Her breathing is too shallow, too desperate, and she shudders against him. There has to be something for him at home. Anything is better than this, but she can't find the words to tell him so. It isn't his fault. He has to know that, right? Even this was worth it to keep him safe.

She wants to make it better, wants to find the magic words that will make it easier, but every thought feels distant, strangely half-formed. Her eyes drift closed. It seems like far too much effort to keep them open, and her hand slips from his cheek. She lets out one last, trembling breath, and doesn't move again.]

[bywolves]

[ It's his fault. He should've moved. He should've taken the blow. It was Hadrian who killed her. It was Royce's responsibility to take care of it. But he didn't, and Tifa's hand hits the floor with a dull thud, and Royce can't breathe. Feels like panic, feels like being strangled, feels like - feels like there's something in him that dies with her, and Royce quietly smothers it all down. He can't handle pain like this - he learned, a long time ago, to shut it all off, to retreat.

Royce doesn't care about the blood. She doesn't feel it anymore, either. It's okay. He can carefully pick her up again and take her to the couch, wrap her in her blanket. If not for the bloodstain, she'd look like she was sleeping. His breath stutters and catches at the sight, at the knowledge that she isn't, and for a good, long minute, he just trembles, holding the arm of the couch with white knuckles, struggling to breathe. He's alone, he's alone, it's overwhelming and lonely and it seizes his lungs in a vice, he's so damn dizzy that he has to drop to his knees to try and get ahold of himself.

He curls up on the floor. Back against the couch, sitting up with his legs pulled to his chest, hands tangled in his own hair, Royce cries. He cries until he's weak, until his head hurts and he's exhausted, until all he can do is drag himself up onto the couch to hide his face in her hair. She's cold, and it nearly sends him right back into the middle of a panic attack. He's cold, and he holds his breath until he's dizzy, shivering, tears leaking down his cheeks.

When he wakes up, she's gone. The blanket is still there. Royce doesn't leave the house. He curls up on the couch, clothes ruined, and wraps himself in her blanket. ]