With your face turned towards him, he found his sense of love abruptly empty from his body, sucking all the air out with it. A blank stare, a soft smile that hardly reached your eyes; What had happened, he wondered, between the moment before this, and now?
He had lost everything time and time again. The onslaught of such a devastating apocalypse had nearly been a saviour to him; A chance to escape away with you, to survive together.
He knew his master would have called his idea foolish. Though it had been long since he agreed with all of his master’s ideologies, he believed his master to be right this time. He felt no anger towards the voice that seemed to constantly comment on his decisions, because he was right. It had been foolish. He had been blinded by his fantasies on all the days he’d spent with you, believing that nothing could harm either of you with the power of his quirk and, more than that, with the power of the love he felt for you.
But that love was gone, and along with it left the person he felt it for. Had it been a slow progression for you to become unrecognizable? Had he been so blind as to not even notice? Thinking back to the months you’d spent together, however blurred together they were, he tried desperately to recall some hint amongst memories of your face, of your voice, of the slowed pace of your walk back to your hideout. He realized he would be returning alone tonight, that he had witnessed your last venture back to your hideout and your last venture out, and unknowingly so.
“You should have told me.” His voice was cracked, slow. What was there for him to say? Why was he speaking at all, if his voice was fated to fall on deaf ears? And why was it that God felt the need to constantly take everything away from him, even you?
You tilted your head slightly, and for a moment he swore he saw life flash in your eyes, though as swift to exit as it was to return. The voice he heard you speak in was so utterly desecrated he wished to cover his ears and scream, scream and scream until he heard the voice and the words he knew so well return to your lips and fall off your tongue once more.
“Fuck, why didn’t you say anything?” Unafraid of what may await him, of your possible hostility now being possessed by a disease far too grim to cure, he found himself by your side, examining each part of your body with careful, nimble fingers, one always lifted up. “Fuck, where is it? What happened? When did it happen?”
You replied to him with no answer, though he didn’t stop asking and he didn’t stop expecting nothing from you. Cautiously, he found the bite; A rainbow of colours amongst the monotonous atmosphere he’d grown so accustomed to could have been beautiful had it not been on your body, had it not been the mark of a monster’s teeth sinking into your ankle, had it not have been the last thing he lost.
He rummaged through his pockets, movements so hurried he felt the last bandage in his pocket turn to ash beneath all five of his fingers, and he felt his body grow weak at the knowledge. The sudden weight of so many deaths weighed heavy on his shoulders and heavier on his heart, and he knew there was no reason left for him. Master had died long ago, so he supposed; If he remained alive, he had likely found a new successor. What was the point, then? There was no world left to destroy, so his hands had gained a new purpose. But with their purpose lifeless and empty-eyed, their final target, he knew, would have to be himself.
He reached for your palm. Though you had yet to grow bloodthirsty, he supposed it was only a matter of time before you did, and thus he was forced to confront the unforeseen reality of all the things you had once said to him and all the things he had once said to you. To die by his hands or for him to die by yours, he wasn’t sure which would be a proper goodbye to you. To leave you to suffer, mindless, nothing but a body and a desire for the flesh of others, or to leave his fate, your fate together, to his own courage and will. He hoped that everything you had ever said to him about fate would be true, that the two of you would end up together after death. He hoped to hold your body in his arms and apologize to you. A future outside of this reality, he hoped, would be a future where nothing more could be stolen from his grasp.
“I love you.” His lips parted, so close to your neck that you could have felt the words on your skin. “I love you, and this is my fault.”