and if you fight, i'll fight - prologue
It had been sunny that morning, sunnier than it had been in weeks. This is a fact. There had actually been various unorganized plans to go picnicking. Nicolás has lost only one person in his life before. This is also a fact. As is this: He remembered the sun from this morning clearly, as he tended to do with most things. Like the hot blood that trickled down his arm, and the wet, sticky feeling that coated his hands. It would take days to get the blood out from under his fingernails: another fact.
Nicolás could feel the coarse concrete of the sidewalk scabbing his knees and could hear the faint sound of a 1967 Chevrolet-something revving away. Later, he’d ask Jiu to key their car. In front of him was his reason, his talisman. Bleeding the fuck out. Warm, scarlett liquid drenched Nico’s shirt, spilling out before him, and it felt wrong. So wrong, the warmth in the hand he clutched now turned cold. He had tried to stop it, the blood that had already seeped through their shirt, the blood that had pooled on the sidewalk and stained his knees when he dropped to the ground, of course he had. His soccer-whatever ripped sweater now lay to the side, soaked and useless, almost as useless as he currently felt, watching as the blood stained the only truly good thing left for him.
“Please, oh fuck, what did you do? Don’t- don’t go." Nico desperately shook his head, shifting over to face down at the limp head resting against the hard curb stop of the lot. His hand reached up, cupping their cheek and rubbing his thumb across their cheek bone, swiping away stray drops of blood.
“The circus, we need you, I-” The sound of gunshots nearby cut him off. He ducked down, clutching their weak form close to his chest. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to go, it's not- it's not what we planned! I swear, if you try to fight this, I’ll- I'll do better, I’ll do better.” His voice caught in his throat, his eyes burning with despair, tiny drops of misery dripping onto the pool of blood. “The circus- it’s you, what are we supposed to do, how can we-” Nico’s nonsensical ranting broke off in a sob, he reached up to hold their face in his hands. “I’m so sorry.”
The look in their eyes was nothing but love. As they offered their final partings to the world in the form of a hand clasped on the back of Nico’s neck, and a whisper in his ear, Nico felt their pulse slow. No. He grasped at their shirt, his hand over their heart. No. No, no, no, no, no-
“Please,” Nico’s voice cracked, and he was sure he’s shouting now. “I love y-” There were more gunshots, closer now, and something yanked him away, grabbing the back of his torn shirt and throwing him to the side. People were grabbing at his arms, dragging him up and shoving him-
“RUN, NICO!”