𝘛𝘖𝘔𝘔𝘠𝘐𝘕𝘕𝘐𝘛 𝘈𝘕𝘎𝘚𝘛 𝘖𝘕𝘌-𝘚𝘏𝘖𝘛𝘚

the finale (tommy)

a/n: no this isn't the last chapter of this book!! just an appropriate title for the fic :) this is based off of a tiktok i saw by riiahcloudzii, feel free to watch it! (if the link doesn't work it's their second most recent upload <3)
https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMepG5yFU/

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the amount of things he could begin to complain about never seem to fade as he floats along a seemingly unceasing lake.

there's water in his ears. they're plugged, the world surrounding him grown muffled beneath the sounds of nearby flowers and lilly pads drifting closer, then further away from his body. it's too warm, and suddenly all too cold for him to enjoy. he would voice his thoughts, declare that he suddenly hates being in the water, but then again, doesn't seem to do as much when he sees the way the picture is painted.

the sun is shining directly in his face. it's annoying, bothersome, and tommy hates how yellow his hair looks when the star is granting him a spotlight as if he were the lead role in a play. granted, the curtain's long past its closing time, and his handful bouquet seems to have scattered along the tides carrying his body, dispersed in a way that seems fitting for its circumstances. he somehow isn't fazed that he can't give one final bow as the audience claps for him.

bandages decorate his skin. they're the only things that seem to be in-character for the reckless teen, though he can't seem to recall ever wrapping them around their respective wounds. "battle wounds are meant to be shown," he'd say. "they're memories of my strongest moments." the ones he wear are meticulously taken care of; tommy doesn't believe he could choose to be careful if he even tried. perhaps whoever attended to them cherished him enough to allow his final departure to be a pleasant one. he almost wishes he'd gotten that much before his current situation (and yet, he can't find anything in himself to hold a grudge against any of them).

the flag of his nation drifts past his head, and he's reminded of the countless numbers of wars he'd been forced into at such a young age. he feels bad for the other kids on the server. it isn't their battle to fight, but when you're given a role and a fancy uniform to match, what else can you do aside from fulfill it to the best of your ability? no amount of beatings and bruises compare to the scenes that revisit his mind when he can't seem to sleep, tossing and turning and hoping that someday, someone will take him out of this place and allow him to be a kid again. because what's a bit of trauma to him when he can't possibly be old enough to yet comprehend what it is? it's a war, and shit, did he promise himself to remain undefeated.

unfortunate to him, the seventeen year old with an attitude ever-so heedless, the only time he's confident that he's won is when his friends (enemies, brothers, sisters,) lay his body down on the lake and finally allow the boy to rest, to escape from the shithole he'd dreamed of one day conquering. he's free now, but it's bittersweet that it has to be without them. without ever truly making a difference in any of it.

dried tears and a rusty compass accompany him into the afterlife, and for once in his life, between the times he's cheered so hard that his voice finally found itself days later, and the nights he sobbed into his blanket until he eventually fell asleep, with no one to comfort him or tell him he was okay, he's at peace. with all three lives down, he's at peace.

his server gives one final salute to the boy as he floats off, and he is at peace.