"Don't cry, darlin'."
(TW: Blood, death, angst, and oc x canon sort of. Go easy on me, I haven't written anything in around 2 years, and even when I was a frequent writer I sucked.)
He knew someone had to have heard that. A piano crashing to the ground wasn't quiet after all.
Blood pooled at his feet, clothes stained red from having kneeled to try and help. Stupid, yeah, but... he hadn't been thinking straight. Not to mention it had splattered everywhere– how did it make this big of a mess?
He didn't mean for this to happen. He knew he'd have to finish the mission eventually, but he had grown attached. He had been charmed by the infamous smooth-talker, Colson.
It was simple. Get in, shoot him, get out. He snuck into the fella's dressing room when he was in the middle of some musical number, and boy could the man hit a high note – and Cup waited. About thirty minutes later, in came his target.
That should've been it. He should've shot him and left. But...
Colson was gorgeous. Breathtaking even. And while Cup's seen plenty of pretty folks, he'd never been so memorized by their beauty.
Maybe it had been something about those half lidded eyes that made him pause, a light, warm shade of brown, tired but curious. Maybe it was how pale the man was, like a porcelain doll (a bit worrying honestly). Maybe it had been the way he fidgeted with the straps of his overalls, something he didn't stop doing even after Cuphead asked. Politely, too! Maybe it had been his hair, all curly and wild, perfectly messy - if that's a thing.
Or maybe it had been his voice. Cup's probably heard a thousand voices like it, but it had just... Taken him off guard. It was like a soft caress, gentle and comforting, but the way he spoke was like a dare, teasing and unafraid. As sweet as candy, and deadly as venom. And that accent - Cuphead never even cared about accents until then. Painfully Irish and painfully captivating.
He had grown to care about Colson. Care in ways he didn't know he could. It was a love friendship so deep, so weird, so passionate, that for a while Cuphead forgot about his deal, about his debts, about everything but the man near him. It made Cuphead feel odd, made him want to do things that were stupid and cheesy just because he knew Colson would laugh and do something equally sappy back.
Now Colson was dead. And Cuphead had the blood on his hands to prove it.
He hadn't meant to get so angry. He rarely lost his temper.
He knows that voice. Or at least, he thinks he does. It was distorted, sounding too close but also so, so far away.
He felt something heavy press down on his chest, his throat tight. (It was those shadows. Shadows that were judging him, watching him.)
He saw something dark grab his hand, intertwining their fingers.
It felt like ice. It felt like Colson.
What has he done?
He could barely hear the voice over the sound of his heartbeat, the quickening of his breath has he held back tears. And because of that, he couldn't hear the footsteps. He only heard the screaming.
He had to leave. Now.
He's completed the mission.
