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It’s getting colder now.
But Chosen doesn’t care. The elements are his friend; they know better than to harm him. Besides, if he leaves, if he goes inside, what will be waiting for him anyway? A silent house with crumbling walls and dusty picture frames, blueprints for plans that had long died taped haphazardly on the walls because he couldn’t bear the thought of even their worst being forgotten.
He would rather stand guard over the lonely stone marker. It's all that matters, now and forever onwards.
He had lain the jacket on the frost-coated grass and collapsed onto it, unable to do anything but breathe in Dark’s scent; a mix of wood smoke, graphite, and something Chosen couldn’t place, and let his tears soak into the fabric.
Minutes, hours, days, an eternity. He hadn’t been paying attention. There’s no point anyway.
Dark is gone.
He listlessly raises a numb hand to trace the letters carved into the stone. “Dark,” it reads. And then, in smaller letters, “My heart and soul.”
Chosen almost wishes that Second had never jumped between them on the cliffside that day. He would have welcomed a death at the hands he knew so well, the hands of his worst enemy and greatest companion.
Maybe then at least one of them could be satisfied, if only in a twisted way. He knew how Dark's code had eaten at his mind. The least he could have done was grant him relief from that pain.
It would be better than this... emptiness.
Emptiness and cold discomfort.
Maybe he should go inside...
But he can’t bring himself to leave Dark’s side.
He’ll be so lonely otherwise.
“Hey.” An unfamiliar voice splits the silence. The face of an older stick figure leans over him, with an expression of vague worry. “Are you alright?”
Chosen doesn’t respond. How can he? A knot of grief chokes him, swallowing his words.
The stranger eyes the stone, and their expression softens in sympathy. “I see. Well, in any case, you might want to head someplace warmer. You wouldn’t want to get frostbite.”
When Chosen still does not reply, the stranger sighs. “I know how you feel. But I can’t let my loss consume me. I have to make things right.” He shifts his grip on the stack of books in his arms. Chosen sees a determined, almost frantic light in his eyes at the last few words.
“So please, take care of yourself, alright?”
He turns to go, casting one last worried glance back at Chosen, whose eyes follow him as he leaves.
Chosen does not move, even as the stars begin creeping across the darkening sky. He is not like the other man. There is nothing left for him, no further purpose.
His light is gone. His fighting spirit is gone. The other half of his soul is gone.
Dark is gone.
Let the frost swallow me whole.