“I’m not good for you.” - paulkins?
TW: death/murder, guns. spoilers for tgwdlm
~~~
Paul’s head slumped as he caught his breath, having crawled his way out of the rubble he’d turned the starlight theatre into. He had most of the glass from a spotlight buried in his arm, along with various cuts, splinters, and burns. But Paul was alive, and nobody was singing anymore. All he could hear was a ringing in his ears, but he tried to focus on what was ahead of him: freedom. Emma.
“Paul.”
Emma stood over him, limping closer. She was deathly pale, her hair having come undone and now resting at her shoulders in her struggle to walk there.
“You did it. You made it.”
She smiled, suddenly slumping to the ground and leaving Paul to scuttle his way over and catch her. She watched him, taking in his tear-soaked face as he did the same to the blood spewing out of her mouth.
“We made it, Em. We’re making it out alive.”
“If you haven’t noticed, I’m fucking dying,” Emma’s smile fell when Paul began to cry,
“but hey, it’s okay. I’m not good for you, anyway.”
“I-wha-!”
He heard the gunshot after he felt it. The bullet tore through his neck, leaving him gasping for breath through the blood pouring out of him and onto Emma. She stared up at him, before aiming the gun again and giving two shots to the chest.
“You don’t mind dying in Hatchetfield any more than I do, don’t you?”
And from the dying girl, came a song. She slurred the lyrics slightly as she grabbed Paul’s tie, pulling him down to her level.
“Hey, Mr. Business, how d’ya do?”
What was left of Paul’s senses were flooded with blood and the feeling of lips on his. He fell slack against Emma, panting his last breaths. Emma didn’t wince, she just snaked a hand up to his hair, running her hands through it the same way she always wished she had.
“Can I get a triple for you?”
