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One-shot ficlet from an Imagine Your OTP prompt.
The barrel of the gun pushes Duo’s bangs aside, icy steel parting the silken locks to rest against the pale skin of his forehead. His head is leaned back against the wall, eyelids laid against flushed cheeks, eyelashes breaking against the bruises beneath his eyes. A tiny furrow of agony mars the smooth skin between his eyebrows as a trickle of blood leaks from the corner of his mouth. He’s covered in bruises. The pain of his flesh is negligible to the heartbreak of the person on the other end of the weapon. It’s exquisite, the heart-wrenching agony that comes from being despised by someone you adore.
Sometimes you find the love of your life and it’s perfect. Other times he’s pressing a gun to your head and asking if, before you’d die, you’d like a cup of tea. No, it’s not like that. Heero jabs his hand into the earpiece, snarling a greeting into the microphone. Duo can hear the tinny voice on the other end, high-pitched. Female.
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