[ He lifts his eyes from the phone at the increased whispering, the drag of heavy feet, and without thinking, scrambles back and out of the way, phone still clutched in his hand, but message unsent. Midnight is not too proud for a tactical retreat. That voice is worrisomely familiar, as is the implication that he is known, but he's not particularly worried about anything except creating space.
If his precious friends are not allowed to interfere, that's fine. Midnight's used to going it alone.
You were never meant to survive for long. Not your heart, anyway. But it's a nice narrative bookend now that the rest of you will follow, isn't it?
He ducks behind some shrubs, trying to find cover. He just came in from the door, he should be able to get out again... Or at least make enough space to get the rest of his message out.
(He knows that voice. Who is that...? There are too many eyes to tell where a possible face might begin and end, but the shape of those shoulders was familiar...) ]
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If his precious friends are not allowed to interfere, that's fine. Midnight's used to going it alone.
You were never meant to survive for long.
Not your heart, anyway.
But it's a nice narrative bookend now that the rest of you will follow, isn't it?
He ducks behind some shrubs, trying to find cover. He just came in from the door, he should be able to get out again... Or at least make enough space to get the rest of his message out.
(He knows that voice. Who is that...? There are too many eyes to tell where a possible face might begin and end, but the shape of those shoulders was familiar...) ]