turn the lights down

we were once here

"Having to bury my own body was the saddest thing I've done today," Lucca said, once the hole they dug was completely covered, and he could lean on the shovel.

Adde grasped his shoulder to offer comfort, the touch tentative at first, then firmer, more comforting when they weren't rebuffed for it.

As if Lucca could ever shun them away.

"It wasn't you," they said, insistent.

"Wasn't it though?"

Adde's hand slid lower as they pressed against Lucca's back, their arms now wrapped around his waist. "Not the way you are now."

"Perhaps. But it has still been me we've slaughtered tonight. Me we've dug a hole for and me we've just finished covering up with dirt."

"It never felt like you," Adde tightened their hold on him, trying to comfort them both. "He had no passion for me."

Lucca huffed at that, amusement there and gone.

He clasped one of Adde's hands in his own, thankful to have them there with him.

"I guess that is what defines me."

"He didn't have your eyes either."

Lucca can feel the way they're trembling. He can't imagine how much worse it could feel for them, aiding in the murder of the person that was the same as the one they've loved for so long.

It had to be done, but that didn't make it easier for either of them. But Lucca can't offer any comfort to them now. Later, when they're back, once he has put away the image of himself bleeding out on the cold, wet ground.

"No," he laughed, a short, hollow sound, "I guess we made sure he never got those." When he looked at the grave again his lips were stretched in a mimicry of a smile, his eyes were hollow, even as they briefly flashed red.