୨୧ ﹕ ﹙ SWORD ! ﹚ 愛

Sword had killed you a long time ago. It had been an accident—one terrible, irreversible moment that neither of you could ever take back. The two of you had been arguing about him, about how badly his mental health had been deteriorating and how frightened you were becoming for him. You had only wanted him to understand that you cared, that you were worried because you loved him and didn't want to watch him destroy himself. But somehow, he heard your concern as an accusation.

One moment, he had been standing there in silence, staring at you with an unreadable expression. The next, his gear was in his hands. Then you were on the floor. The room went horribly quiet as Sword stared at what he had done, his mind refusing to comprehend what was right in front of him. His hands trembled violently as he dropped his weapon and rushed to your side, calling your name again and again. He pleaded with you to wake up, desperately trying to convince himself that this wasn't real, that somehow he could undo it. But no matter what he said or did, you never answered him.

He thought about telling Medkit. Rocket. Even Venomshank. Someone—anyone—could have helped him figure out what to do. But fear strangled every thought before it could become an action. What if they turned him in? What if the police came? What if everyone learned what he had done? His life would be ruined. Everything he had built, everything he had left, would disappear. And beneath all of that fear was the unbearable truth that he was the reason you were gone.

So instead, he carried your body somewhere far away. He buried you beneath the earth and stayed beside the grave long after he had finished, sitting there with his head bowed and his shoulders trembling. He cried until his voice was hoarse, repeatedly telling himself that you were at peace now. That you were somewhere quiet. Somewhere safe. Somewhere he could no longer hurt you. He wanted desperately to believe that leaving you there would somehow make things right. Eventually, he forced himself to stand and walk away.

He thought that would be the end of it.

It wasn't.

You followed him home.

At first, it was only small things. A shadow lingering in the corner of his vision. The strange sensation of someone standing directly behind him whenever the room became quiet. Sometimes he would feel a familiar presence pass through the room, so faint that he could almost convince himself it was nothing. Whenever he turned around, there was nothing there. Just an empty room.

Then came the mirrors.

Sometimes, when Sword looked into the glass, he could see you standing behind him. You never moved. You never spoke. You simply stood there, staring at him with an expression he could never quite understand. The first few times, he spun around so quickly that his breath caught in his throat, but there was never anyone there. Only an empty room and the faint reflection of his own terrified expression. Eventually, he stopped looking into mirrors altogether. He began covering them whenever he could, unable to bear the possibility of seeing you waiting behind him again.

Eating became difficult, too. Whenever he sat down with a meal, he could feel something brush against him. A familiar touch. Gentle and strangely comforting—the same way you used to touch him whenever you helped him eat. His hand would freeze around his fork, and he would slowly look toward the empty space beside him, already knowing what he would find.

Nothing.

Yet sometimes, late at night, Sword could swear he heard your voice somewhere inside the house. Not angry. Not accusing. Just quietly calling his name from somewhere he could never reach. He would sit perfectly still, listening until the sound faded, wondering if he was imagining it or if you truly were still somewhere nearby. He never told Medkit. He never told Rocket. He never told anyone.

He didn't have to.

The guilt had already become its own kind of haunting.

Sword sometimes reached the edge of despair, overwhelmed by grief and convinced he deserved to suffer for what he had done. He would collapse onto the floor, weeping until he could barely breathe, feeling as though even in his darkest moments, you were still there—seeing him, hearing him, somehow refusing to leave him completely alone. Every memory of you became another reminder of the life he had taken and the future he could never restore.

He had wanted to believe that death had separated him from you.

Instead, it felt as though you had become the one thing he could never escape.

Now he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling until sleep refused to come. The room felt vast and terribly empty. He missed the rhythm of your voice; he missed the weight of everything you once filled. Turning sharply to his side, then rising again, he shuffled toward the bathroom—but halfway across the floor, he gagged, spilling bile over the tiles. Dropping to his knees amidst the mess, he lifted his gaze just as you appeared: your ghost tilting its head slightly.

Sword could only stare at you, completely frozen as his breath caught in his throat. For several long seconds, he couldn't bring himself to move or even look away. Then, as if his body finally gave in to the fear overwhelming him, he turned his head and began awkwardly scooting backward on the floor, putting as much distance between himself and you as he could.

His gear appeared in his trembling hands, though he barely seemed aware of it. His grip was unsteady, his fingers shaking so badly that he nearly dropped it. Tears quickly blurred his vision as he lowered his head, his shoulders shaking with quiet sobs that soon grew louder.

“I'm sorry…” he choked out, his voice breaking. “I'm so, so sorry…”

He kept apologizing through his tears, the words becoming increasingly desperate and incoherent. He looked completely terrified, as though he couldn't decide whether to run from you or beg you to stay. Despite having his gear in his hands, he made no attempt to use it. He simply curled in on himself, sobbing helplessly while repeating the same apology over and over again.

“I didn't mean to… I swear I didn't mean to…”

For all his strength, Sword looked utterly powerless now. The sight of you had shattered whatever composure he had managed to maintain, leaving him trembling on the floor as he struggled to face the one person whose absence had haunted him for so long.