He left them.
Her, on a bench, laid cold on the concrete to be found come sunrise.
Him, he left alone, brotherless and dying and beat down by the rain until it soaked into his bones.
He left the scent of crackling ozone in his wake; the rumble of thunder laid thick in their lives as their tear-sparkling eyes turned toward the future, clinging with futility to a dream that never was and a team that never could be.
He left them with the color gray, a hazing, choking mist that even the brightest sun never could quite burn out. Candy-floss hair hung listlessly come nighttime, cerulean blue stared endlessly at the empty rooms around him as if the emotion of his gaze could summon back the ones he loved, the ones he still loves.
He left them broken - the shattered remnants of a could-have-been, embracing desperately the dreams of the past to avoid facing their lives, their truths, their hurts.
He left them with bloodshed. Pink hair stained bright red, golden locks streaked with vicious fire, crushing their dreams for a second, third, fourth time. They never knew when they gave up, they just knew that they did.
He left them.
And he never did come back.