Work Text:
And the gun is cold in shaky hands
but what else would you expect?
steadiness in a decision must be unbalanced somehow,
the scale tips and turns
till there is no right or wrong,
good or bad, just an aching desire that takes over
everything that might hold him back
and the gun is cold to touch!
but not as chilling as the reflections watching
pleading not to.
his eyes find theirs and the scream falls from lips
that stayed silent too long
but no sound appears but a click
