━━━━━━━━┛ ✠ ┗━━━━━━━━
Word Count: 1,650
Warnings: Implied suicidal thoughts
Created for the Tropetember Event - Noble Demon
━━━━━━━━┓ ✠ ┏━━━━━━━━
I really hope this counts cuz me struggled 😔
I recognised him by the colour of his uniform; skin tight bright electric blue and orange. It was impossible to confuse him for anyone else though I quite enjoyed the frustration on his face when I pretended I couldn’t tell him apart from the others he worked alongside with. Something which eventually became a staple in our peculiar ‘relationship’.
But today was different. Unlike usual, my snarky remark was met only with a sigh and nothing else. How boring.
So there we stood, face to face on the rooftop separated by enough distance to tease romance in a period drama, only in our case the tension was far, far more dramatic. My cape swished in the wind, a cool breeze greeting my skin as we lingered in silence after the lacklustre response I received from him.
“Tell me, hero, did you miss me?” I held my arms out as I took a single step forward, flashing him my usual smirk. But again, I received no reply. The hero simply looked away, sighing once again. If he wasn’t going to respond to anything then what’s the fun?
He rolled his shoulders back, moving his long hair away from his face before taking his fighting stance, bringing his fists up close to his chest. “Let’s just get this over with” he locked eyes with me and it was in that moment that I noticed him shiver. It’s not like it was something unusual considering his outfit offered little to no protection from the elements, but one would think he’d be accustomed to it after so many years on the field.
I arched an eyebrow at him, meeting my hands behind my back as I took another step closer. “You’re going to fight me? Hand to hand?” I asked. “That seems rather reckless for you…” He might be one of the most renowned heroes of his time, but his power lay almost exclusively in his supernatural abilities. Bring him down to a fist fight and he’d be lucky to last a minute. Especially to someone like me.
“You don’t know me” He replied, seemingly bothered by my commentary. But not the usual kind of annoyed, as if this truly offended him.
“I like to think I do,” I replied, leaning forward just as he swung a punch at me. I caught his fist in my hand, a movement rather sloppy on my end but far worse on his’. Sure, physical combat wasn’t his forte, like, at all, but this was just pitiful. What was he trying to do? Punch the dust out of a pillow? I feel like he’d even do that with more vigour. I held his fist firmly in my grasp, my eyes trailing from my hold to his face. “Pathetic” I spat out, shoving him back and returning to my previous stance. “If you’re going to fight me then do it properly”
My eyes lingered on him, narrowed and watching as he flicked the sting from his fist before going at it again. This time, I acted fast, stepping aside and making him miss entirely. He turned around to get me again when I swung a kick to his side, making him wince in pain as he reached a hand for the injury allowing me the perfect opportunity to kick his leg, forcing him to his knees.
Two movements and he collapsed on the ground, catching himself with a hand before I grabbed a hold of his hair, yanking his head back to meet my gaze. “The hell’s gotten into you? You’re sloppy” I gritted out, growing rather impatient with this tragic display.
But he didn’t reply, simply staring up at me with those innocent brown eyes looking right through me. I frowned, recognising the distance in them so I instinctively reached a hand for his brow, feeling the warmth of his skin greet mine.
It was then that the realisation hit me and everything fell into place. “You’re sick” I scoffed, releasing him from my grasp. I took a deep breath, resisting the urge to kick him for wasting my time, but I simply arranged my cape back into place, turning away. “Go home before you get yourself killed”
“You’re leaving?”
I stopped in my tracks at his words, turning around to see him rising from the ground, a painful movement to even watch; his body straining as if he’d already been beaten half to death. He turned to look at me, holding both his arms close to his chest in a feeble attempt to conceal the trembling. “I’m your enemy. You have to fight me.” He said, though it sounded more like he was convincing himself rather than me.
“Fighting you like this is beneath me.” I replied casually, earning yet another scoff from him, as if with my unwillingness to fight him while he’s sick I insulted him far more than all those times I’ve mercilessly hunted him down. “You’re delusional if you think you can take me on in your current state.” I continued, sending him a side glance “Which judging by your fever is a very plausible scenario. Go sleep it off”
I was about to turn around when he stopped me once again.
“You don’t get to pick when or when not to fight me! You hate me, why not take the fucking opportunity!?” he raised his voice, an obvious hint of anger lining his voice. Two uncharacteristic things for him.
“Winning from you when you can barely stand isn’t a win” I narrowed my eyes on him. “It’d be like winning from a child, what is that worth?”
He scoffed, teeth gritted as he looked away, chest heaving in growing frustration. He ran a hand through his hair only to grip it tight in what I could only assume was a way to ease his rage.
Me being annoyed, I understood, but him? Why was he frustrated? Because I refuse to kick his ass when he’s at a terrible disadvantage? Does he want to get himself killed?
“You have to fight me!” he yelled out again, body tensed for just a moment before being taken over by the shivers again. He sank back onto his knees, shoulders slumped in defeat and head hung, his face concealed by the long hair cascading down his shoulders. “Please… Please, I can’t take it anymore”
I stared at the sight before me, watching a hero; the protector of the city begging for me to kill him. No life or death situation, no hostages, no sacrifice– how did this make sense? Could they really have stretched him so thin that this is all that remained?
“You should know better than to ask me to kill you” I kept my voice steady, but softer than usual, devoid of the usual snark I was infamous for. “I don’t believe in giving up, regardless of the circumstances.”
“I can’t do this anymore…” he shook his head, sniffling back either tears or the sickness which he insisted on making worse by coming out here. It was repulsive to see someone so righteous and kind reduced to… this. A hopeless mess. It made me wonder for how long this had been going on. How long had that smile he showed even to the cruellest of villains been nothing but a front? How many times were all those selfless acts of sacrifice nothing more than a cry for help gone unnoticed?
I walked over, unfastening the clips holding my cape in place and gently placing it over his trembling shoulders. The hero looked up at the action, meeting me with teary eyes.
“You don’t get to give up…” I secured the cape, making sure it would stay over his shoulders while simultaneously keeping my gaze away from his’. “The world needs you, hero. Someone needs to stop the evil in the world. Someone needs to save humanity”
My words seemed to have stuck a nerve judging by the tears that rolled down his cheeks. He smiled, not like he usually did, but rather bitter and pained, strained against his face. A misplaced unbelonging thing I didn’t want to endure for another second more.
“I save everyone… but who saves me?” he whispered, even his voice betrayed him, breaking before he could finish.
His words reached far deeper into me than I had hoped, as if for the first time in so long I found something in him to relate to. “No one can save you other than you.” I sighed. “If your grip is weak and your mind is fated, regardless of who is holding you up, you will fall.”
I lifted my gaze and met his, staring widely at me in a mix of confusion and curiosity. “But until you can find that strength, I’ll lend you my hand” I held my gloved hand out for him in the little space that separated us and he looked down at it, remaining silent as he considered it, likely reminding himself of every reason he had not to trust me. Truth be told, I wouldn’t either. But in a moment of what could only be desperation he placed his trembling hand on mine, a touch unsure of itself but I secured it with my own grasp, a gentle nature to it unlike anything I’d exercised on anyone before.
For all the violence I’ve caused and all the mayhem I’ve brought onto this world, I would not have the blood of a broken hero in my hands. If ever should he cease, he’d do so standing on even ground. I refuse to take advantage of someone at their breaking point. Clearly something which no one in his life reflects. Why else would he be seeking out solace with me of all people? I don’t do feelings.
“On your feet now, hero. Last thing you should do is give them the goddamn satisfaction of seeing you down.”