The Cold

Disclaimer: I do not own Galactik Football and I make no money from this fanfiction.

It was fitting that they buried him in Akillian; it had been the graveyard for all their hopes, for all his fragile dreams that had seemed so indestructible at the time. Just like Aarch himself.

The snow whirled, propelled by the wind, beating bitterly cold against Artegor's face. It entered his mouth and it tasted like death, to his mind it all did.

The more he walked, the colder he got, the more numb he became; he could almost feel it spreading, crawling over his skin.

He didn't have to walk but in some sense he did, he couldn't face seeing anyone, having to speak to anyone. He never could pretend.

It felt strangely like he was walking to his own doom, his own end, rather than Aarch's.

He stopped at the gate, pausing, touching the frozen iron with un-gloved hands. He had no desire to continue, he would much rather have turned back, but he was compelled. It was almost reassuring, even in death Aarch had power over him.

He walked slowly, the gravel under his feet making a grotesque, crunching sound, unsure as to where he could find him. He had a purpose in being there and yet he felt aimless, lost.

He peered at rows at tombstones, the unfamiliar names barely even registering with him. There was only one name here that would ever mean anything to him.

Eventually he found it, found him. He stared at it, mesmerised, his eyes tracing the curves of the name that was engraved there: Aarch.

He sunk to the floor, without caring that his trousers were getting soaked, he reached out to touch the gravestone, feeling the coolness of the marble in his fingertips.

He wanted to cry, just once, he wanted to let it all out. But it felt like the tears had frozen inside of him. He didn't know what he had expected to find here, but if anything, the emptiness inside of him had just deepened.

This was proof, stone-cold proof, that he was really dead. He'd never been good at accepting the truth, even when it was staring him in the face.

He got up, prepared to go, but found that he couldn't bring himself to move. There was nowhere to go from here.

Instead, he lay himself down on the ground, allowing the snow to bury him forever.

That's it for this fic, I hope it wasn't too clichéd. I was sort of inspired by the song 'A Promise' by 'Broken Records'. Some of my more recent fics have been more comedic so I think this piece of mega-angst is a bit of a reaction to that, I don't know. Anyways, please review!