By Duzzie

Word Count: 215

Shatter

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There is something entirely inexplicable in the way her fingers paint her sorrows over his face.

They run, gently, over his closed eyes while the soft humming of their breaths even into one, and eventually, he can't tell if it is he who is still breathing, or she.

Their lips touch, soft and harsh with all of the venoms that war brings, and the bittersweet taste of blood fills his mouth. And suddenly, right on contact, he can feel her broken heart, as shattered and dangerously sharp as his.

He reaches a hand up her shirt, trying, trying to free the pieces of their hearts, trying to free them both because right now, this is the only way that he knows how.

Later that night when she lies still in his arms, her sharp angles not quite fitting with his soft curves, he stares at her face and he thinks, if there were anything left to break, it would.

It would shatter into a thousand parts.

At that time, more than any other moment, he wanted to save them. Hugging her close, he falls back asleep. When he wakes, it is to a cold space, and a cold breakfast.

Her scent is there, he breathes into the pillow.

Breathes deeply,

Breathes slowly,

Breathes.

In,

-

-

-

Out.