somebody who helped others, and somebody who craved love. And this man, who was once so detached, so callous, was single handedly lifting you out of the darkness like a beam of blinding light.
“(Y/N),” he breathed, eyes scanning frantically for your wound as a bright blue emitted from his hands. His gaze stopped on your injury, a hand moving your bloodied one out of the way as he attempted to patch it up. It felt tingly, almost uncomfortably warm as he examined the look in your eyes, gauging your reaction. “I will not let you die.”
You trusted him; of course you did. But to heal this? You couldn’t stop the laugh that gurgled up your throat, your hands tightening into fists as a sharp pain stabbed through your side.
“I swear to you I’ll fix this.” He stated, eyes now fixated on your wound. He seemed to be exerting a lot of energy, brows furrowed and a bead of sweat trickling down his forehead. “I will…” He breathed. “I’ll…”
He was cracking, you could see it in his eyes, gray like the clouds before a storm. And a storm was coming. Not in the form of thunder and lightening, but in the form of emotions. He was breaking and you were dying. You watched silently as the mood sobered, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly, the myriad colors of lights dancing on his skin like a show of theatrics.
“It’s okay, Stephen.” He looked to you sharply, expression betraying his pain