- 0 0 : 0 3

SHE SAVED HIM.

This was how it had been all along.

He was the reason she wouldn't be alive in the future. He was the reason she had stood in the zombie's path. He was the reason she had risked her life.

Had everything happened because he'd tugged on the thread of fate? If he hadn't followed her, she wouldn't have given him her gun and left herself defenceless. If he hadn't run into the zombies, his other self wouldn't have gotten distracted with the fighting. If he hadn't travelled back in time, nothing would've happened to her.

He sits on the bed, his face buried in his hands. If he'd thought himself acquainted with despair, guilt and pain before, it's nothing like what he feels now. Not even knowing that he'd indirectly caused the Dark Ages had given him as much grief as this.

He looks up at the sudden crash.

Her lab is almost soundproof, but loud noises like these still go through walls. He glances briefly at the door, before looking away. Then-another crash. Steeling himself, he gets up and tugs the door open a fraction.

The sight leaves him cold.

The room opposite-his lab-is in complete chaos. Glass and papers strewn everywhere, it looks as though the heart of a hurricane had been through it. Through the gap between the door, he sees his other self pacing, running frantic fingers through his hair.

"I have to find it," his other self mumbles desperately. "I have to, I have to. I did it before-with the Antigen, I can make something similar again. I have to-"

Oh.

His own fingers curl around the doorknob, his knuckles white. He understands what his other self is trying to do. Reverse her transformation, restore her to human form. It could be done, perhaps, but it had taken his other self five years to create a substance that would kill zombies. How long more would it take to create something that would revive humans?

How long did she have?

He leans his forehead against the door and closes his eyes, flinching with each new crash. It's not your fault. He wants to break the unspoken rule of time-travel and tell his other self just that. It's mine. And yet, aren't we one and the same? Your despair is mine. Your pain, your guilt-all mine.

You and I-we are the same man, after all.

Footsteps make him look up. Through the gap, he sees her. She makes a beeline for his lab, but glances towards her lab on instinct. Her footsteps slow, she seems to notice the gap in the door, but then turns to his other self. Even now, even on the brink of turning into something no longer human, her first concern is him. His heart clenches. Never again will he look at her without that ache-that knowledge that I did this to you and I'm so sorry, so fucking sorry, I don't think I will ever be sorry enough.

He watches her comfort him. A gentle hand on his shoulder, pulling him away from the splintered mess, then fingers curled around the nape of his neck. She tugs him down and he doesn't hesitate, winding his arms around her waist as he sobs into her neck.

"I can't-I don't know what to do," he hears his other self say. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I'm not smart enough to save you, I'm so sorry."

She hushes him, running soothing fingers through his hair. They stay like that for several minutes, soaking in comfort from each other's mere presence. When at last she speaks, there is something so calm about her voice that a chill races down his spine.

"There is one thing you can do for me."

"Tell me."

"Do you-" she says quietly, "-do you still have any of the Antigen left?"

Her words strike a stone cold weight in his heart.

He puts two and two together as swiftly as his other self does. He sees the moment his other self stiffens, then wrenches away from her like she's an open flame. Horror flits across his features-he's certain that his own expression mirrors his other self's.

"W-what're you saying?"

"I'd like some of that, if you still have it," she says, keeping her eyes locked on his. "Before...before it's too late."

"It's not going to be too late," his other self hisses. His face contorts with anger, he's treading the line between desperation and fury, and both could easily lead to insanity. "I can create something that will reverse it. If you just give me a week or two, I'll fix it, I swear!"

"I don't have a week or two, you know that. I have hours-two or three days, at most. And I'd like to be gone before I turn, because if I do, I might hurt you and you won't be able to stop me. I won't be able to stop me."

"I'm not going to let you kill yourself, for fuck's sake!"

She doesn't flinch at his shout. Her gaze is levelled, but he sees that flicker of absolute agony in her eyes. That sheer pain for having to say these words, because it hurts her even more than it does him. He wonders if his other self sees that.

"Someone has to kill me," she says gently, so gently that he can almost hear her heart being ripped apart with every word. "If not me, then-"

-you.

His knees give out beneath him, his shoulders hunch over. Unable to watch any further, he shuts the door quietly and sinks down onto the floor. It had been him all along. The other option-the only option. There was no way he would've let her kill herself, and there was no one else in this godforsaken town. It had been him.

I killed her.

He pulls his legs to his chest, folds his arms on top of his knees and buries his head in his arms. He should be crying, but his eyes are painfully dry. His shoulders heave and his body shakes. Every fibre of his being feels like it might explode with the prospect of losing her, of not being able to save her, of knowing that he is the reason she will be gone.

He doesn't know how long he stays there for. Minutes, hours-time has ceased to matter when it has come to this. He doesn't look up until the door clicks open. At the sight of her, he scrambles up.

She shuts the door behind her, locks it, then turns to him. Her eyes are red-rimmed but tearless, much like his, and she wrings her hands in what he recognizes as a gesture of distress.

"Taehyung."

It's the only word she manages to get out before she crumbles. Gone is her earlier calmness, her easy acceptance of her fate. Tears spill down her cheeks, and her shoulders wrack with sobs that devastate him to hear. He sees her now, as real as she can get. Like she's shed off all her layers and the only thing left is her.

Frightened, vulnerable, helpless her.

His feet close the spaces between them as he swiftly pulls her into his arms. All along, she had been the one to comfort him. But now, as she cries into his chest, he realizes how painfully fragile she is. That vile creature had bitten right into her, and she didn't stand a chance. Even though she'd shoved it off her, even though he'd killed the zombie a split second later, even though his other self had cleaned her wounds-it had been too late.

He fights the crushing despair, the inevitability of what-will-be, and tightens his grip around her, pressing his cheek against her hair.

Let me be the strong one this time.

"I'm sorry," she chokes out at last. "I'm so sorry. I didn't want to ask that of you; I didn't mean to hurt you. I know how difficult and painful it would be. I know. But he wouldn't let me use the Antigen on myself, and I didn't want him to be forced to kill me after I turned."

He remains silent, still holding her tightly against him. He understands, of course he does. It's the only way. He accepts her apology, even though it's unnecessary, but he can't help the sharp sting of pain for his other self.

What a tragic thing-to kill the one you love.

"I'm so sorry," she repeats, finally looking up at him. Her gaze turns pleading; she clutches his shirt in her hands. "It will be the kindest thing you will ever do for me. You understand that, right?"

He swallows. "I know."

Through tears, she manages a grateful smile that makes his chest tighten. How can this be kind, if what I will do ends your life? he thinks, still gazing down at her. And yet, it is. Because this is what you want, because I love you, I will do it.

Slowly, without words, he brings a hand to her cheek. He lowers his head and kisses her. Once, twice, thrice. In spite of her initial reticence, she begins to respond, with kisses far gentler than his. He slides his tongue across her bottom lip, encouraging her to open up, then kisses her deeply. She still tastes the same. Coffee and cinnamon from the bread she'd probably eaten earlier.

He can't believe that a part of her is already gone.

Still sensing her hesitation, he pulls away and reaches for her hand. "You should get some rest," he says, tugging her towards the bed.

"Alright."

She follows him, toeing off her shoes, and curls up under the bedspread. He pulls the blanket over them, then wraps his arms around hers. With her breasts pressed against his chest, his fingers around her ribs, he can feel the thrum of her heartbeat.

Still steady, still alive, still human.

He leans down to press his lips to hers once more. A simple kiss. No teeth; no tongue. Just a quiet clash of breaths, a soft pressure of his lips on hers, and the sheer certainty that there will only ever be her.

It is, he thinks, the best kind of I love you.

He pulls back a fraction, then looks into her eyes. "It'll be okay," he says quietly. It's a lie. It won't be okay. Nothing will ever be okay again without her. But he will lie and smile and pretend that it is if it'll make her believe.

Her lips twitch up into an echo of her sunshine on snow smile. Then she nods, and closes her eyes.