Fuck…" he muttered under his breath.
He ran a shaking hand through his hair, fingers tugging hard at the strands as he leaned forward against the lab table.
His chest felt tight, heavy, like he had just dropped a bomb and was now standing in the aftermath.
He hadn't wanted to say it like that. In fact, he hadn't wanted to say it at all.
But Rhydric had looked at him like that he already knew something was wrong.
=======================
Athena woke in the middle of the night in Azrael's bed, his arms wrapped securely around her waist. She turned slightly, just enough to look at him. He looked exhausted. She knew he was. He had been watching over her, through out the week, trying to distract her even when the depression refused to loosen its grip.
It felt strange, not being able to call Oliver.
He was dead. She knew that for a fact, and yet her fingers still hovered over his number, aching to press call, to hear him call her doll one more time.
