Worship
By SMYGO4EVA
Zenon tasted copper, red clinging to his hands. His chest heaved, emptying, such melancholy.
Allen slumped forward. He looked up, his eyes dark, looking straight at Zenon.
Zenon couldn't move, let alone speak, his breath haggard.
Damn it.
An annihilated devil was behind them, soot rising into the acrid air, then becoming nothing.
They had knelt before the blood-soaked altar, feelings and thoughts running rampant, and yet, there was nothing to be said.
Even when it was the right call to action, Zenon's heart ached.
It hurt so much, he just wanted to die, he wanted despair.
Allen couldn't die, he couldn't.
"Zenon," Allen murmured, his voice raspy, and his hand reaching out, touching Zenon's face.
Zenon grasped Allen's hand, his skin was like ice, so bitter and cold.
The darkness gained control of the light, banishing such notions of goodness and justice to the pit.
"Allen, I-I'm so sorry, I-I'm so-" Zenon spoke, his voice shaking, ignoring the pleading noise sitting in the back of his throat. He clutched desperately at Allen, his arms wrapping to his fellow mage's waist. "Call me an idiot, hate me all you wish, but just…don't go."
"Zenon, I could never hate you…"
"Allen, please." Zenon buried his face in Allen's neck, ignoring the crimson upon his skin, etching his tears and his ragged clothing. He could care less about such trivial things, not when he felt Allen's arms wrapping around him, weakly, but still just as strong.
Everything meant nothing all at once.
Allen leaned in and pressed his lips to Zenon's face, and he smiled softly. He pulled away gently, his eyes wavering, glimmering.
Zenon blinked his dark eyes, taking in a shaky breath, and then mirrored Allen's smile. It hurt so much, but he gingerly pulled Allen in and their lips met.
There was no coming back, no steps to walk backward to, and there was no waking.