Blood dribbles down my lip to my chin. Wiping it away only smears it along my cheek and onto my hand.

"What-" before I can get out another word, he punches me again. I fall to the ground, splattering my blood onto the cold tile.

"Suka," he mutters, kicking my ribs once, and then again and again. When he pauses, I catch my breath, but it's not like I can get much air in with such a damaged chest.

"Get up."

I look upward, to his face. He's not glaring at me. Instead, he just watches the fireplace. I don't blame him for not wanting to look at me. Bloody, choking for air. I must look disgusting.

When I try to prop myself up, I slip on the splatter of my own blood.

"Pathetic," he snorts.

"Ivan..."

"So. The is the country that tried to fight me. You cannot even get up! You are pathetic."

"I don't- I didn't try to start anything!" I plead. No, he's not going to listen.

Instead of a reply, he kicks my stomach and demands, "Get up."

Despite being winded, I make it to my knees.

"If you can't stand up, then how do you expect to fight?"

Through my blurred vision, I can see the pipe in his hand, just before he slams it into my jaw.

Crack. Oh god.

I can't see anymore. On the ground, all I feel is my body giving in and breaking under the pipe. I deserve it for making Ivan mad.

Coughing up spit and blood and air that refuses to stay inside. Thud. Thud. Crack.

Sickly crunching noises. I try not to move. Moving hurts.

After another blow, or maybe more -it's not like I'm counting anymore- he stops.

"Toris?"

I can't respond right now. All I can do is gasp like a man on death's doorstop. Horrible rattling wheezing.

"Toris!"

He fumbles with my limp body, managing to press on every blossoming bruise and every broken bone. He clings to me.

"I... I'm... Toris... hear me?" his words are so elusive. Maybe my hearing isn't good anymore. Silently, I apologize that I cannot hear his words properly.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please. Please don't die. Please, don't leave me like this."

He buries his head into the crook of my neck. And sobs.

He's never cried for me.

Attempting to speak, the first sound that comes from my mouth is an awful rasp. Not even a word. I try again:

"For...give you." Opening one eye -the other was already swollen shut-, I see his face. A mixture of surprise and sadness changes to a smile. He really smiles, not just the pleasant smile he always wears.

"Thank you," is the last thing I hear before my eyes close again and the world goes soft and dark.