my blood | park seonghwa

seventeen

Seonghwa's hands trembled as he kneeled by his fallen friend's side. He couldn't bring himself to touch Hongjoong, not as it began to sink in what he had just done. Tears were blurring his vision, yet he was doing nothing to stop them or even to brush them away.

     His eyes seemed to be completely glued to the blood which gashed from the open wound. The thoughts that were swirling his mind were unclear other than the absolute horror which paled his skin further.

     Hongjoong weakly gazed up in his direction, letting out a small chuckle as blood began to trail from the crevice of his lips. His hands moved to try and cover the wound, only to be stopped as Seonghwa places his own palms over the surface, blood quickly tainting his hands.

     "You finally did it, hyung," Hongjoong exasperates, already starting to struggle for air. "You finally fulfilled the promise you made all those years ago. I'm dying."

     Seonghwa remains silent, his lips sealed tight whilst his eyes remain attached to the blood which was going everywhere, showing no clear sign of slowing or stopping before it al ran out.

     "I can save you," The King finally speaks. "We just have to stop the bleeding. If I get Woo-"

     "He can't do anything, Hwa," Hongjoong objects without hesitation. He frailly positions his hand to gently rest atop Seonghwa's – a gesture of comfort. "I came here today fully knowing this would be the outcome."

     Upon hearing this, upon feeling the soft touch on his own hands, a strangled sob slips out from Seonghwa's throat. He is fighting back on his sorrow, having no desire to allow for all his vulnerabilities to be released as he watches his old friend die.

     You couldn't keep quiet as the sobs tore through your throat, reaching their escape. San did his best to calm you, holding on to you as much as you would allow, whilst you maintained your view of the scene before you. The volume of your cries was drowning out all the words being shared between the two supposed enemies.

     Although, their current positioning juxtaposed the way they had labelled each other for the previous centuries, with them now appearing as a man dying in his lover's arms.

     "I should have tried harder to stop it myself," Seonghwa mutters weakly, unable to maintain his usual composure. "If I had done more, you would never have left, and we wouldn't be where we are today. You would still be alive and well – heck – you could have been my King."

     "You can't beat yourself up about the past, what's done is done," Hongjoong assures him, only to be interrupted by a small series of coughs. Seonghwa almost springs into action, rolling the silver haired male slightly to the side as his coughs of blood spatter on the ground.

     It pains the King to see his old friend in so much pain and misery, especially knowing he was the cause of it all. There was nothing he could do. Not even hypnosis would hold enough power to try and fool Hongjoong out of the pain, not when he was one of the illusion tactics masters himself.

     The silver haired male winces under Seonghwa's hands as he is slowly moved onto his back once more. The King lets out a string of apologies in a whisper, the pain in Hongjoong's features being reflected in his own.

     "I used to be so sick of thinking about you," Hongjoong recalls, a soft glimmer still apparent in his stare. "All the time, you were the only thing that plagued my thoughts. The constant concern over your wellbeing, whether you were okay, whether San was managing to take care of you or not."

     "Don't talk too much," Seonghwa affirms, "You'll lose more blood. Let me do the talking, please." The end of his sentence morphs to be more of a plea than anything.