Kingsley had long since washed the blood off of his own hands. Donald's sad eyes had haunted his dreams and plagued his waking moments. Five years of work. Five years to execute his master plan. Five years of getting close.
Was Donald his friend?
Donald's only friend was Kingsley, and Kingsley had betrayed him. He had betrayed a broken child clinging to the only thing in the world that had ever shown him love, even if it had been fake, it was love. No, he had betrayed a psychopath who'd taken down many many many people with nothing more than his bare hands.
The brown haired boy did not miss Donald looking at him like he'd hung the stars in the sky. He did not miss getting gifts from a blushing seventeen year old. He did not miss having someone who always wanted him around.
No he didn't.
He nearly screamed at the thought of harboring guilt for Donald's death. It was a plan five years in the making that he'd thoroughly prepared himself for. He knew the risks. Kingsley was not attached to Donald. Yet he still saw the smiles, as the blonde was covered in blood, "You're on my don't touch list Kingsley," He proclaimed loudly, "Nobody will ever lay their hands on you for as long as I'm around."
Kingsley wondered if he's shot himself in the foot, his umbrella was gone and now he'd have to face the rain head on. It'd been too long since he'd attempted such. He found himself missing the romantic gestures, and the shield of protection, and the listening ear. Nobody would ever mess with Kingsley as long as Donald was around.
Is that why nobody ever messed with Kingsley?
Is that why he'd grown to be like this, under the shelter of Donald he'd rebelled thinking that still now he'd remain safe? He'd wronged many people under Donald, and the blonde had taken every repercussion. Now Kingsley would have to face consequences of his actions.
Turning the corner, his eyes caught on the fifteenish figures that had been waiting for him, two had been following him for the past block. Who were they? How had he wronged them? There were far too many options, he'd done too much. "I feel your absence Donald," He thought blandly, looking up at the sky.
Insults hurled at him like stones, colliding with his body painfully. What had he done? To them? To Donald? Why did he do that to his only friend? There was no good reason.
Punches hurt more than words. Kicks. The flick of a few pocket knives reminded him of his own that he'd flicked out just a few days ago. The splatter of his own scarlet blood on concrete reminded him of Donald's. Why? Why had he done that? They should've just stayed friends. Then both of them would still be alive, breathing, smiling, fighting to keep going.
Inhale. His eyes was swelling shut, his chest ached as if he'd broken more than just one rib.
What had he done?
Exhale.
...................................
501
lil break
AH I NEED PERFECT ATTENDANCE
*scream*
YOU ARE READING
The Touch of Jack Frost (Weak Hero)
FanfictionDEADCEMBER SUBMISSIONS: UPDATES DAILY WARNING: THIS IS DARK! I AM CREATIVELY KILLING EVERYDAY! A new type of plague is spreading rapidly, seemingly without a cause. All the while, it seems death is flirting with everyone. Suddenly, the Yeongdeungpo...
