Nuvole Bianche | Luca Balsa x Reader

• 5 | Glass Shard •

Luca's life was fading within my arms. His face was torn and his sides were oozing with crimson. His now unkempt hair was threaded with dust and dirt. He could barely whisper his final words to me before he shut his eyes. I laid him down gently, and with my blood-gashed arm, I helplessly reached for Melly's crumpled, damaged fingers. She was sprawled on the dirty concrete with her once enchanting ebony eyes peeking out of her torn mask. They were now ashen and inanimate.

I yearned for the ability to scream, but only a squeak befell from my parched, torn lips. My eyes burned as my tears mixed in with the dry air and mud. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't. What was the point of breathing when the lungs of my loved ones could not?

The sound of a snake rattle.

I could not see it, but I could sense it behind me. In this helpless situation, I'd prefer to be mutilated than to live a life of perpetual mourning. Defenseless, I accepted my inevitable doom as the sickle shredded my throat.

I awoke in a pool of sweat with my heart erupting out of my chest. I frantically scanned the room for a silhouette and examined myself. The curtains gently caressed my arms as the gentle breeze tickled my cheeks.

A nightmare.

No.

A prophecy.

I brought the pillow to my face, my fingers digging through the white satin, and distracted myself from the dreadful scenarios that would occur today.

The envelope informed me of the time, the site, and my teammates.

And Luca was one of them.

Those diabolical rodents. They were plotting something after all. They were idling aside, waiting for Luca to recuperate from the previous match so that they could place him alongside me. They were toying with my feelings and were eager to see how far I would go to save his life or mine. To even imagine Luca injured or set in that rocket chair...

They knew I would gamble it all for his sake.

But would I? Even if it's apparent that I cannot die?

I'm not sure anymore.

--------

I had lost my appetite when I attended breakfast. I felt the need to hurl all over the tablecloth. I could sense Luca's sympathetic stares when it was time to prepare for the match.

"P-please don't fret, Y/n," he consoled as I retreated to my dorm. "We only need to be c-cautious. I confess that it's d-difficult to see your confidants get wounded, but we must continue if we are to escape s-simultaneously. I cannot say that the panic becomes more manageable the more you p-participate, but at the very least, no one can p-perish."

I pivoted to face him, quivering. I felt frail and pathetic. I'm guaranteed to lose my first round, and I am not at all prepared.

"Luca..." I squeaked. "I'm petrified."

And I am afraid of watching you die again.

My confession only emphasized my fears. I hardly express my vulnerabilities so easily to a stranger, but my immediate response was to expose myself to Luca, regardless of whether he recognized me or not. He was my weakness, and I had to admit that I still needed him. That I still wanted him.

Luca opened his arms for me, but I shuffled away. It's one thing to think out loud, but to allow these emotions to evolve into actions is dangerous. It would only worsen the possibility of my nightmare coming true.

But his eyes filled with disappointment.

"Please... at the very least, let me e-embrace you," he pleaded.