[align=center][div style="width:455px;text-align:justify;font-size:8pt"] "WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING!?”
Jagged pearls bared, a deafening growl was freed from hollow system, belonging to the poor mad man, Colin Lynch, ( death was calling ). Visage twisting, coated in sanguine.
Scratch, scratch, scratch. Red. Red. Blood. He tensed.
At the surprising sight of Richard’s crimson, yet tender hand reaching towards his arm to express reassurance, his mouth snapped into a straight line, releasing emotions, just like his despair ( as he only locked away the desire to break down—how fucking dare he? ).
Colin slapped his best friend’s hand from touching him ( though he wanted to accept it so badly, he couldn't, he couldn't, nonononoENOUGH ) and snarled, “Don't.” Bent mind lost in trembling weight of anger and exhaustion, he couldn't tell if the stinging in his eyes came from the rain or his own tears. Cursing silently to himself, he wiped off what he liked to believe was the former and stared at Richard, oceanic stained eyes narrowed.
He noticed Richard flinched at his cold rejection and he didn't bother to stop himself from thinking, good. With what Richard just did, the fucker should know he had it coming. However, that wasn't going to stop Richard from attempting to talk him out, apparently, like a stubborn ass bitch he was.
“Colin, please, listen to me, I was trying to help you,” explained Richard.
Colin laughed. Amusement evolving into bitterness. "By lying? Is that your definition of helping?” A taunt meant to reopen wounds and spill honey.
Richard shook his head. “You were being targeted at. I didn't want you to be paranoid and make any rash decisions if I told you the truth in the first place.”
Iron bones within bloody fists cracked with an intention; that being the urge to punch Richard. What the Hell. Does he think he's not capable of taking care of himself? “Are you fucking telling me I'm not smart?” Colin asked, voice laced with offense.
“No. I just...I can't risk letting you know, only to get you killed in the end. I do feel horrible that I lied to you, and I'm really sorry, but...please,” pleaded Richard, taking a small step closer to him. “I can't lose you too.”
An unnatural wave of silence fell between them.
Memories flickered at the back of Colin’s mind from Richard and him drinking to celebrate their success at the beach, leading to Richard mentioning his wife’s death, and ended with one time when they laughed together without a care in the world. What happened, exactly? Colin couldn't recall at this state, but part of him knew it was one of the best few moments he ever had in his life.
Inhaling mistakes, he dug his nails into his palms.
“You're a goddamn asshole, you know that?”
Colin noticed the other’s lips twitching at his retort. Eventually, Richard smiled, sincerely, and his heart couldn't resist but sing.
“If it means to keep you safe, then yes.”
Jagged pearls bared, a deafening growl was freed from hollow system, belonging to the poor mad man, Colin Lynch, ( death was calling ). Visage twisting, coated in sanguine.
Scratch, scratch, scratch. Red. Red. Blood. He tensed.
At the surprising sight of Richard’s crimson, yet tender hand reaching towards his arm to express reassurance, his mouth snapped into a straight line, releasing emotions, just like his despair ( as he only locked away the desire to break down—how fucking dare he? ).
Colin slapped his best friend’s hand from touching him ( though he wanted to accept it so badly, he couldn't, he couldn't, nonononoENOUGH ) and snarled, “Don't.” Bent mind lost in trembling weight of anger and exhaustion, he couldn't tell if the stinging in his eyes came from the rain or his own tears. Cursing silently to himself, he wiped off what he liked to believe was the former and stared at Richard, oceanic stained eyes narrowed.
He noticed Richard flinched at his cold rejection and he didn't bother to stop himself from thinking, good. With what Richard just did, the fucker should know he had it coming. However, that wasn't going to stop Richard from attempting to talk him out, apparently, like a stubborn ass bitch he was.
“Colin, please, listen to me, I was trying to help you,” explained Richard.
Colin laughed. Amusement evolving into bitterness. "By lying? Is that your definition of helping?” A taunt meant to reopen wounds and spill honey.
Richard shook his head. “You were being targeted at. I didn't want you to be paranoid and make any rash decisions if I told you the truth in the first place.”
Iron bones within bloody fists cracked with an intention; that being the urge to punch Richard. What the Hell. Does he think he's not capable of taking care of himself? “Are you fucking telling me I'm not smart?” Colin asked, voice laced with offense.
“No. I just...I can't risk letting you know, only to get you killed in the end. I do feel horrible that I lied to you, and I'm really sorry, but...please,” pleaded Richard, taking a small step closer to him. “I can't lose you too.”
An unnatural wave of silence fell between them.
Memories flickered at the back of Colin’s mind from Richard and him drinking to celebrate their success at the beach, leading to Richard mentioning his wife’s death, and ended with one time when they laughed together without a care in the world. What happened, exactly? Colin couldn't recall at this state, but part of him knew it was one of the best few moments he ever had in his life.
Inhaling mistakes, he dug his nails into his palms.
“You're a goddamn asshole, you know that?”
Colin noticed the other’s lips twitching at his retort. Eventually, Richard smiled, sincerely, and his heart couldn't resist but sing.
“If it means to keep you safe, then yes.”