Kotlc oneshots!

Brintan

HI! Sorry this one took a while... ok, so quick warning for mild torture, and a couple things like that. Sorry, I just got into dark fanfiction writing mode, so this⬇️ happened😅. 

Also I'm using the word 'skies' as like percy jacksons 'gods!' or six of crows 'saints!' 

I got that from fire on fire by AriaAshtri113, so thank you! 

I just realized how much the fanart reminds me of wylan and Jesper from six of crows,and thought I'd mention that also😭❤️

I promise this one shot ends happy, even though its a bit depressing. Please vote if you like the story, and dont hold back on comments!

'And so it was, We never saw it coming, Not trying to fall in love, But we did like children running, Back then we didn't know, We were built to fall apart, We broke the status quo, And broke eachother's hearts!'

Bronte left Oralie's house shaking.

He had just spent an hour and a half holding everything back, but... here it was.

The pain.

The loss.

The heartbreak.

Because Oralie hadn't been the only one to lose the love of her life that day.

Fintan had also perished in the flames.

"His flames." Bronte reminded himself, barely holding back what he assumed were tears. "And he took Kenric with him."

Which was almost as bad.

Not only Kenric's death, which was... like happiness had disappeared, but also the fact that, about Fintan, Bronte wasn't even allowed to be sad.

Because Fintan was a murderer.

"But his mind was broken!" Bronte whispered, mildly ashamed to be talking to himself, but knowing that, about this, there was no one else he could talk to. Ever.

"It doesn't matter." Bronte said to himself as he opened the door of his castle. The words were barely words, so choked off by the lump in his throat that he himself could hardly hear them. The next ones were even quieter.

"He's still gone."

***

"Bronte? Brooooooonteeeeeee?"

Bronte shot up, grabbing a melder that he kept under his pillow and blindly pointing it around. "Who's there?! Who's there?!"

"Bronte?" The hand that belonged to the voice turned on the lamp next to Bronte's head, revealing...

"Fintan?!" The tall blond man was sitting on Bronte, which was...

Beside the point, Bronte thought, forcing himself to stop jittering and to focus on what was happening.

Which was that a dead man was currently sitt- NO!

It was that Fintan Pyren was alive.

"Hi." Fintan said in a small voice, before realizing where he was sitting, turning red, and moving off of Bronte to sit on the edge of his bed. "So... I'm not dead."

Conflicting emotions filled Bronte.

Anger.

Hatred.

Jitters.

Relief.

And that last, very prominent one, the one that he could NOT speak of. Or think about.