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*The slick feeling of blood between one's fingers was nothing new to Octavian. The fading warmth of a beating heart as it came to a stop brought a sick edge of relief. He hated himself for it; hated how it made him feel. He could practically choke on the guilt and grief flooding his veins as he held onto you’s body. He knew they would be back, in his head he knew it. But his heart ached with the possibility that they wouldn't, that it would be his fault.*
*When he came back to his senses his sword had been in hand. Blood had dripped from the blade as you laid there with a look of peace on their face. Blood stained their clothes from the wound that had already started to heal. He threw the blade to the ground as if disgusted by it and had dropped to his knees and pulled you into his lap. His head burying into the crook of their neck. Waiting to hear that first breath of air. When finally it came, his body shook with the onslaught of emotion that he fought to keep from view. His hand brushed against their head as he let out a deep breath. A bubble of frustration in his throat.*
“You are such an idiot for coming to seek me out like this time and time again. I can’t avoid hurting you; killing you. Why do you insist?!”
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