no one expects things to fall apart so fast. people don’t realize when the world ends, it ends fast. loss is quick and unforgiving and no one knows that better than him.
he was stupid for thinking she was safe, he knew that. he assumed and assuming gets no one anywhere real fast. he always thought she was the one that knew better (even though he would never admit that). she was common sense, he was impulse. brains and wings, the dream team inside a dream team. parentless nobodies destined to fall into each other’s arms and never want to leave.
when the words leave nebula’s lips, he believes her. in his heart he knows and the loss is already processing, fast and firey. it takes no survivors, ripping apart his poorly bandaged heart. he shoves away the heartbreak, sick of the ache of loneliness and throb of grief. he’s angry, and it’s rightful. lashing out protects him from shattering into a new empty nothing.
death is a sweet release. he closes his eyes and feels nothing as he fades away. his greatest hits play in his head because isn’t that how all heroes are supposed to die? and it’s her. her warmth, her smile, the way her hair moved when she twirled into his chest. it’s all her. it’s peaceful and he prays, for the first time in a long time, that he gets to see her when he opens them.