Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sometimes, during the particularly monotonous stretches of time in their limbo, he remembers the things he used to do in college.

Elliot played a pretty big role in that, he'd say. Half of the time he spent— more than that, actually, now that he thought of it— through those years was dedicated to trashing the place. The same face Elliot always made with teary eyes and knitted brows was permanently seared and branded into 007n7’s mind. He'd never forget how he looked at him when he pulled out the c00lgui.

He can't remember everything he's done there, but he does remember how much he liked that small part of it. A little too much to be deemed normal. He felt an odd sense of satisfaction seeing Elliot wear that face. It was like he was the only one who could draw it out so easily, that no one else was allowed to see but him. Who else could see Elliot scared? Distressed? Definitely not some random customer. Maybe not even his family. 

So he never entertains the thought that he was just an obnoxious, wild college student. He didn't have the pride anymore to try and fool himself.

No. The roots ran much deeper than that. It makes him wonder if omegas just have a sixth sense, because Elliot seemed to anticipate his infatuation with him long before he even did. He must've sensed that 007n7’s intentions were never as shallow as just occasionally exploiting his pizzeria. No, he didn't deserve the argument of saying he was purely reckless when he was young. Everything he did was intentional.

Because one day he kissed him. Unprompted, solely driven by need and something he couldn't decipher. 

It was a little after the customers had cleared out. Dark had fallen outside the restaurant and Elliot was humming to himself as usual while he packed everything up for the night. He remembers how Elliot responded. He saw that look of shock at first, his eyes blazing with something he could've only interpreted as confusion and instinctive anxiety, but for some reason it fizzled into nothing as he almost went limp in his hold. But the old him didn't complain. While Elliot trembled with a body stiff as stone, he didn't push him away. He didn't fight. And to him, that surrender was good enough.

007n7 left the restaurant that day with the omega’s scent lingering on his lips and hands. He didn't go further than that. Of course, he didn't have the guts to, despite how much he could've done. He's grateful now he never made that choice. Grateful he was a coward.

It's obvious to him now that in that moment Elliot was scared. And the memory haunts him because of that. The short time he had to touch him, that sent blissful euphoria through his body, never made up for the blank stare Elliot wore on his face when he pulled away. He wore the calming honey scent he exuded, but it was tinged with the distress he was breathing as well without him realizing it.

He wanted him, wanted something nobody else was permitted to see but him. He got what he wanted, mostly. Felt his body like no one else has before. But for what?

And each time he entered the pizzeria and inhaled that aroma of honey and sugar he fell a little deeper into that fascination. He never really moved on.

That's the same memory that flashes through his mind like a gunshot when he breathes in that same scent, but potent— overwhelming his senses ‘till his face flushed red.

Elliot's nowhere to be seen, but he knows damn well it's him. He'd never forget that smell. He looks around the lobby. Everyone stares at each other, confusion evident in their eyes as they contemplate whether to bring it up or not.

It makes sense to him now. This round, Elliot missed throws, and disappeared out of sight for almost half the time they'd survived. When he briefly spotted him he had a face dripping with sweat, jaw slack and panting nonstop. When also considering his scent, you'd have to be stupid not to know that he'd started his heat. And he didn't know how to feel about that.

Frankly, he hated it. He didn't like that face anymore, the same one he used to obsess over when he'd exploit the pizzeria. Guilt just weighed down on his shoulders, a crushing, soul wrenching sensation that wouldn't shake off each time he saw it. Elliot obviously tried to hide it, but every time he asked for a pizza he'd still shoot that same poorly disguised look in his expression.

That's why he never tries to get closer to him. God knows how he'd react if he tried to relieve his heat. And now the same feeling of unwanted desire was coiling in his gut again.

But he wasn't the same man who twisted his own desires into a fake ‘permission’. He'd never touch Elliot again.

His thoughts are interrupted slightly when someone finally breaks the silence. His head turns to the voice, reluctantly pausing whatever he was trying to string together in his mind.

“Uh… Did you smell that?” Chance says with a nervous chuckle playing at his words. He slides his thumbs into his pockets. “Ah, makes sense.” The room falls into silence again for a moment. It lingers.

007n7 grimaces slightly at his tone. Maybe he was hiding something, too, because he clearly seemed apprehensive about Elliot's heat just like he was. Well— not very much apprehension. Just… secretive, oddly enough. Though maybe that was his own problem, and needed to stop reading into things.

“I apologize if I'm maybe speaking out of line, but I say we should talk to Elliot this time,” Says a breathier voice, a bit shaky. Two Time clasps their hands together. “He always behaves this way during his heat. It must feel stressful being the only omega here, but I don't want him to feel uncomfortable around us.”

“I agree,” Guest says, crossing his arms. 007n7 says nothing, just sits on the couch in front of the pool. “Besides his own discomfort, he keeps hiding during the rounds. It weighs us down as well when it starts to kill us off faster.”

A clap rings through the air and 007n7 spots Taph waving his hands so the attention is fixed onto him.

‘We can't all talk to him. That'd suffocate him,’ He signs with his hands. ‘Only one person. Preferably…’ He trails off, and 007n7 listens closer, intrigued only by the fact that they're talking about Elliot like he's a dangerous animal. It made him feel uneasy.

Briefly, he wonders if he could do it. He shuts down the thought immediately before it has the chance to fester. He's walking on thin ice around Elliot already— how would it feel for him if the person he hates most asks about his sex hormones? 

But he still felt bad. He's only recently reunited with Elliot in this place, and this is the first heat he's really witnessed him go though, but he aches more than he'd like to admit. It was that same feeling of protectiveness. And enhanced by the strong scent in the air or not, it gave him an urge to look after an omega. The omega.

Taph scans the room for a moment before his eyes seemingly land on Chance, who has been keeping a close eye on this conversation.

‘What about you, Chance?’ He signs to him, head tilted to the side curiously.

He's quiet for a moment, thumbs still hooked into his jeans pockets like they were holding the weight of his words he wouldn't spill. “...I… I would be the best option,” He says hesitantly, and, to 007n7’s slight confusion, throws a glance at him. He was acting like 007n7’s presence was preventing him from speaking.

“You would,” Guest says gently, nodding at his response. “But, haven't you already, before? I feel like you should have—”

“Ahh— yeah, a little,” He's quick to interrupt, and 007n7 frowns slightly before he can mask it. He was acting weird and he didn't like it. “I will though, alright? You don't have to worry,” He tries to assure with a weak smile.

“Pardon, again, but did he not take it well? What did you say?” Two Time suddenly cuts in again, not accusatorial, just prodding to understand. They seemed caring, despite 007n7 finding them creepy. “Perhaps you need a new approach? Or maybe…”

“Don't worry,” Chance repeats again, firmer, a little too eager to end this talk. “I just talked about it at a bad time. He.. was a little too into things to think much.”

Chance definitely seems more off than he should be. 007n7 takes keen note of that. Maybe it was just the pheromones talking, but he didn't like how he was talking about Elliot. Was he implying what he thought he was? If so— an uncomfortable feeling tightens in his chest. He felt repulsed, somehow betrayed even though he was entitled to nothing yet. He listens closer, his stomach churning.

Chance throws another glance to 007n7 again. He catches it, gaze hardened, unlike himself much like Chance was unlike his own. He was starting to lean more into believing it was still the honey scent messing with him, but he felt strangely threatened.

He didn't like Chance. He could tell there was something different about him, dangerous in some way.

Chance sighs before speaking again. “I'll talk to him this round. He's usually still pretty conscious on the first day of his heats. He might listen this time.”

007n7 can't stop the envy from coiling in his chest. He still felt ‘deserving’ of Elliot whether he liked it or not. It irritated him to hear someone talk about him like that, when they've undoubtedly never seen Elliot's emotions like he has. Never seen his thoughts torn open and fanned out like a deck of cards for him to witness and worship. How could he understand him better than 007n7 could?

But what could he say about it? Elliot wasn't one to gossip, he knew that much, but he must've given everyone a quick overview as to what he's done when he first got here. Nobody would listen if he spoke up or offered to help as well.

Everyone nods, though, seemingly a little less troubled by Chance’s explanation than he was. They looked oddly understanding, calm, like this was typical and something they expected. Like they knew something only he didn't. And he hated it. 

“I hope it goes over well, this time,” Guest says, smiling as his arms stay firmly crossed over his chest. The others follow in suit.

“Mhm! I-I just hope Elliot stops beating himself up over this…”

“The Spawn praises you for your help, Chance, with Elliot's natural cycle,” Two Time praises.

‘Thank you, Chance,’ Even Taph signs.

With that, everyone sags slightly in relief as the situation is more or less settled for now. The round would start soon. Shedletsky and Noob would have to get off their asses after being left out of them for an hour or two. 

007n7 looks up at the clock, his chest heavy and eyes hooded. 

10 seconds.

Maybe he'd get to Elliot before Chance could. It wasn't the best idea, but he couldn't stand the thought of someone else doing it. For some reason, it was almost unbearable.

And a burning ache in his body craved to be near an omega. He still refused to touch Elliot, but he needed to be close to him. Protect him even if he couldn't with his abilities. 

5 seconds.

He just didn't want that stranger to earn more than he deserved, more than what 007n7 believed he was inherent in.

In his eyes, now, having seen more of Elliot than anyone else has means he's entered and charted farther territory than someone like Chance is allowed to. That look of terror in his eyes, even if he hated it, was still his. The tears. The hatred. It all belonged to him.

The round starts and he takes a deep breath as he's transported, closing his eyes before the world around him has the chance to go black.

When he opens his eyes again the first thing he's hit with is the overwhelming scent of sweet honey and the faint sound of heavy breathing.

Chapter Text

Elliot pants into the pillow beneath him, hot breath wet and staining the fabric with saliva. With his lower body burning, he curls in on himself as he tries his best to stay silent. He just wanted to disappear.

He didn't know how much more of this hell he could take. 

That hollow, empty ache in his abdomen, begging to be filled and used just for the sake of breeding. To have something push its way inside him and let him fulfill what he's never truly gone through with. Could he even carry, here? Heights if he knew. He didn't want to find out either way. The thought terrified him.

He can't stop the whimper he lets out as another wave of nausea hits him without mercy. Part hormones, part sensation of his muscle forcing itself into something soft and malleable. His body shakes, but he wills himself to stay put and as quiet as he can in bed. No matter how bad it got, he wouldn't ask for help this time. Not even from Chance. He was done with it— it disgusted him even thinking about being that pathetic, pathetic enough to beg for someone to…

He screws his eyes shut. The thought of sex has always made him uneasy in the first place. He couldn't take it anymore. The stretch, the pressure that forced him open, it made him feel like his body wasn't his own. Trusting someone each time to listen to what he wants seems like a chore he doesn't want to worry about. 

He didn't want to experience that all again, even if it was Chance, even if he was gentle like he always was.

But the need was still weighing down on him, suffocating his lungs. He needed something. Just to trick his head into thinking it's the real thing.

Slowly, with his lips pursed between his teeth, he reaches down into his legs, firmly placing his palm against his perineum through his clothes. The slick that's been pooling in his boxers compresses slightly with a wet sound that makes him recoil in mild repulsion. But he rests his hand there, half for comfort, half for the phantom sensation of having a partner with him, the feeling his body craves without his mind’s permission.

He lets out a reluctant moan at the contact and turns his face into the pillow to muffle the sound. Frustration wells up in his chest and eyes. His entire body was seething, even his own touch felt like fire jolting through his flesh.

He could take care of himself, right? Just to alleviate the stress, morph it into something more bearable.

The hand between his thighs hesitates for a moment before traveling downwards, closer to his back and carefully diving into his pants. With a gasp he bites the pillow beneath his mouth as fingers make raw contact with the slick and his entrance, and the desperation the light touch sends through him is unbearable. 

As soon as the area is touched, instincts flood his brain and he goes limp, chest heaving with pants. He needed an alpha— needed to be marked, knotted, bred, cared for, complete, he needed something to be inside of him until he passed out— he needed it so bad—

He catches himself after a long moment and quickly pulls his hand out of his boxers. Fuck. He wouldn't. He hated how it made him feel. He wasn't himself like this. Tears well up in his eyes as he wipes the thick lubricant off on the sheets.

It didn't matter anyways. Anything he can do for himself to help would be useless. The round starts, in… he didn't know how long. But with the stamina he always had during his heats, he wouldn't be able to finish in time. 

He lets out a shaky breath, a tear breaking from his eye and rolling down his cheek. The pillow catches it, and it melts into the other mixture of saliva already embedded in the fabric. He knits his brows in disgust. He was drooling. Why was he like this?

He waits there until the round starts, eyes reddened with unshed tears as he desperately tries to endure the need coursing through his body. He feels himself being transported into the map, and finally his shoes sink into cold wet grass as wind cuts deep into his body. At least it does something to soothe the heat.

But his veins suddenly bulge at his temples in shock, throat screaming for air. Because the first thing he can process, before he can see which map they've been placed in, before he can even see who he's spawned by— pheromones waft up his nostrils with so much force he almost chokes. The smell of charred coals, burning embers— it churns through his lungs like a freshly lit flame bursting to life.

His eyes widen instantly, and instinctively he throws a hand over his mouth and nose to filter out the scent.

It was a rut. There was no doubt laced in that conclusion. Lust, desire and arousal all overlapped into one potent smell that just happened to solely embrace him like it wanted to map out the perimeters of his body. He could barely breathe, the pheromones so thick he could physically sense the arousal coming his way, voluntarily or not.

What was he supposed to do? His mind starts to race. He could barely handle himself with his own scents. These were going to drive him over the edge, he didn't want to feel like that again— out of control and out of his own body with raw need. He couldn't do this— why couldn't he just catch a fucking break?

The same instincts begin to creep into his mind again, and he feels his face flush as his body gets even warmer. He hated it— he didn't want it, but his body needed wherever the smell was coming from.

He looks over without thinking to see where the pheromones are being exhaled. To his surprise and slight unease, blazing blue eyes meet his gaze back without warning. 

It was Seven. 

His heart races faster. Seven was relatively new here, despite him having already known him. Was he violent during his ruts? More attentive? Maybe dissociative? Would he hurt him, or cling to him more for being an omega? He has no idea. While he didn't want to particularly figure out which, he could barely move. He felt stuck. He just didn’t know.

But it only made it worse. Heights, the thought of him being inside him. He couldn't bear the thought of it. He didn't hate him anymore for what he did, but he could never go through with that.

They stare at each other for what felt like years longer than it really was. He can almost feel the physical sensation of their scents colliding, and he grimaces at the presence of it. He didn't know what to do.

Seven moves first. He breaks eye contact, hand finding the back of his neck to nervously rub it out of habit, maybe to find solace near the scent glands. Elliot wonders briefly if he's thinking the same thing about him, then brushes the thought off. Of course he is. It's his rut.

Elliot expects him to drop it after they stare for a moment. He's never seen him go through a rut, but knowing what he does about him now, he wanted to see Seven as the new man he was trying to be. Quieter, soft-spoken. He never bothered him anymore.

But he only stiffens further when he watches the alpha’s mouth open and hears him *speak*. His scent seems to get stronger and he steps back slightly. He needed out of this.

“...Y-you shouldn't hide,” He suddenly says, and even he looks shocked at his own words. Elliot doesn't try to keep up the eye contact, pupils narrow and pinned to the ground. “It'll get you hurt. And.. we need you, and…” 

He trails off, but the silence that follows feels louder than the words he uttered. Elliot doesn't respond for a long moment. His hands dig into his biceps from where his arms cross over his midsection, subconsciously defensive. Even the way he spoke radiated something stronger, something his instincts begged for him to cling to. But he refused. He tries to breathe the scent out.

It was suffocating.

He stays quiet. He was praying, begging internally that Seven would take the hint and choose to leave him alone— spare trying to futilely care for him since he clearly didn't want the “help”. He couldn't handle it. Especially if he was only doing it to soothe his own rut.

He can sense something shift in the air behind him as he turns his back to Seven. He feels him contemplating with eyes cutting grooves into his back, his deep thought evident through the silence. Elliot almost wanted the killer to find them and get this over with. Anything but this.

“We don't want you to be scared.” 

Elliot's brows crease and he glares hard at the ground, but his face is angled out of sight. He bunches the cloth on his arms harder between his fingers.

“Please,” He says earnestly, and Elliot hears him take a step toward him and flinches hard. He wasn't scared— he just didn't want him close to him. He couldn't take having an alpha near him right now, especially him. More pheromones waft into his nose and it creases at the corners.

“Seven…” Elliot says, almost warningly. It comes out weaker than he would've hoped.

To his shock, something warm gently settles on his shoulder, but quickly spirals into a burning hot touch that makes him bite his lips to stay quiet. He shakes violently as his thought involuntarily wander to other places.

007n7 falters for a moment at his reaction. He knew. He saw the look on his face, and he knew. But seemingly he wills himself to continue. Elliot could only make the worst of that. 

“We worry about you when you're like this,” He says again, holding his shoulder a little tighter. 

Elliot has to fight himself not to yank the hand off of him. Because the other half of him wanted the hand to stay. And it terrified him. “Just…”

007n7 stops, listening to him, but from the way he pants into the uncomfortably warm air Elliot knows he isn't stable. Him listening didn't mean anything. All he wanted out of this was Elliot, even if it was just the pheromones speaking. Wanted the same thing his body was screaming for.

“Leave me alone. Please. I don't want help,” Elliot finally bites the words out, breaths shaky and wet.

007n7 pauses again. He thinks for a long moment, but Elliot couldn't bear to try and take in his expression. So he keeps his eyes down to the floor, at the mercy of whatever Seven was silently thinking.

Before he has the chance to respond Elliot speaks up again, carefully grabbing 007n7’s hand by the wrist to remove it from his shoulder. The contact sends waves of need through him that he has to brace against. “They'll… th-they’ll need me soon. Please leave me alone.”

Again, he stays quiet. Him finally speaking up must've bursted whatever confidence he had. At least— and cruelly, as Elliot saw it— he hoped so. Each second spent beside him was a second drowned in the smell of his rut. He didn't trust him like this.

“Please.”

He still doesn't respond. Elliot stays put, too rattled to leave. Part of him felt like he needed the acknowledgement from Seven first. Maybe that was a bad thing, because leaving him right now felt like severing himself from a lifeline.

“I—”

“Stay with me,” Seven interrupts again. Why couldn't he just stop? “...I-I don't want to leave you alone when you're like this.”

“...What?” Elliot mumbles, confused. Leave him alone ‘like this’? No, no— he couldn't do this. Why wasn't he backing off? Fear starts to creep up on him. Fear.

“I know I can't really protect you, but…”

He didn't want to protect him. Bullshit.

“Please. I can't leave you alone. I can't.”

“Just fucking—” Elliot shouts, but as his voice comes out high pitched he retracts his words and Seven jumps. He takes a shaky inhale, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes again. “Seven, I don't want to be around you right now. Please.”

He bites his lips to stop them from quivering. He wanted to cry. 

He wanted to scream. Wanted to yell and shout that he hadn't changed, not really. It was just a facade he was keeping up to mask who he really was— the same man, who…

Elliot freezes for a moment, remembering the way his hand had felt on his shoulder. 

Remembering how it had felt when those hands had held his hips and waist all those years ago. On one night.

They both stay silent for a moment. Elliot can hear the alpha's ragged breaths, eyes drinking in his frame like they were parched dry. 

He doesn't say anything else. He didn't want to talk— he felt like the tears would just start flowing.

God, why was he so sensitive? 

“...I'll leave you alone. I'm sorry,” Is what he suddenly hears, and his eyes widen slightly. “And… Y-you’re right. Please— just… stay away from me. Like you want. I don't know if…”

He almost sounded regretful. Somehow, that was both relieving and painful to Elliot. The sheer need to please was begging for him to calm Seven down. 

He takes a deep, shuddering breath, trying to force the tears back into his eyes. Seven knows what he was doing was wrong. He was safe now. He wasn't crazy in rut. He starts to walk past his shoulder, never meeting his gaze.

“...thank you,” Elliot mumbles back in response. That's all he can say. 

It didn't take as long as he thought it would for the killer to find him. His hand clamps over a bleeding wound on his side. Hot breaths puff out from his lips in short bursts as his eyes are screwed shut and stars radiate from behind his lids. He'd escaped. Barely.

He could barely move whenever he got like this. His heat restricted most of his abilities in the first place, but he already knew he was dead. He wouldn't make it out this time alive. Even the slightest movements were sending shockwaves through his body. He'd escaped, somehow, but he was dead.

He buries his face into the wet grass just as he'd done in the pillow in the cabin, wanting to hide himself from the world before 1x1x1x1 would find him again. His other hand finds his hip, stroking it just to feign the feeling of having an alpha with him. It was the only thing that could soothe his frantic brain.

Whimpers tremble from his lips without him being much aware of it. He could've made other noises, could've felt a strange yelp of sound from his throat that dazed him as if it drained the last of his energy— but he didn't know. All he knew right now were the white hot sensations. And the way air was punched out of him as he made that strange, echoing noise.

He feels his consciousness start to slip and his fingers weakly lace into the grass. Heights, if 1x1x1x1 had just killed him on the spot, that would've rid him of this prolonged torture. 

It's a waste he couldn't have made use of himself before he was killed. What else were those heats for in the first place? A waste on him, for sure.

But he was overall content with dying right now, despite being disappointed in himself for not trying to reproduce. He just wanted to sleep through the agony and the desperate need for a partner by his side. He wanted it over.

He feels each second slip past him, no wind hitting him except for the stale air churning with his scent heavy pheromones. 

He was content with this.

But suddenly his brain starts to shift and writhe back into place as a scent fills his lungs, familiar but nerve-wracking all at the same time. 

The gritty smell of coal and fire burns up his nose before he can exhale it, and before he knows it he's already reaching out with a weak, desperate noise. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. His fingers seem to lace into a fabric.

Something warm and firm drags him off of the ground, and the ache the movement sends through him makes him let out a whimper before being drowned out by the bliss the touch radiates. He doesn't think. He just buries his head wherever he can feel the warmth, lets his lower body relax in another's.

Odd touch is felt at his waist but he doesn't dare question it— in fact, he embraces it almost with enthusiasm. He wanted it more than he cared to admit. Again, bliss. His senses were pleasantly overwhelmed. He surrenders entirely. The same familiar hot scent subduing him instantly.

When he starts to blink his way back into thought, albeit hanging on by a thread, bandages are wrapped around the wound at his side, shirt pulled halfway up before stopping at his chest. He furrows his brows for a moment before turning his head to take in where he was.

He freezes, conflicted. He didn't know whether to feel safe or worried. But the scent draws him back and he feels his body flush.

Seven looks down at him, eyes wavering and dilated wide, as if he was the one on his last breath. He looked like the world has been torn out from beneath his feet.

His hand still holds Elliot’s waist. Tight. The feeling is a little painful from the open wound beneath the bandage, but his body betrayed him and only sensed the pleasure. He just needed an alpha. Needed this. So he refuses to protest in the slightest.

“...When..” He mumbles amidst the small whimpers he makes.

A faint murmur that blurs into, “I've got you.” He couldn't hear much. But his words were shaky, like he was falling apart.

“I told you I didn't want to leave you alone like this,” The words suddenly ring out, reaching his ears finally.

Elliot doesn't respond, lingering over the words with unease. He didn't want to consider that thought right now. He didn't even know if he could.

“I won't hurt you. You think I'll hurt you, don't you?” Seven says, and the tremor returns to his voice quicker than he would've preferred. “Never. I wouldn't dream of doing it again. Why is it so hard to accept that I've changed?” They come out fast. The words are moments away from caving in on themselves.

He swallows, keeping silent and drinking in the touch.

Had he really changed, though?

“Please stay with me, Elliot,” He mumbles, and he feels his face push into his hair, words muffled.

“Don't try to leave again. Don't think I'm lying. Please just trust me.” He sounded desperate. Elliot wasn't ready to take on whatever that meant. “I've changed.”

He's changed. Or so he says.

Elliot doesn't know what to think.

He hears the timer start to tick down, around 15 seconds left of the round. 15 seconds left, of… whatever he could call this.

He both hated it and craved it.

“Don't leave me,” 007n7 repeats, a broken record. He almost lets out a small noise, close to the pained whines Elliot had made before. Elliot shakes his head, brows furrowed in stress.

The timer ticks lower, and he goes completely limp against Seven, savoring the touch for the last moments he’d allow himself to.

He wanted to be able to think again. He needed his wounds to heal so he could repeat the process and hide in the cabin room again, drown his heat out, bite the bullet and touch himself to relieve the agony.

“Please,” Seven mumbles into his hair, fingers digging painfully now into his side. Elliot winces. “I need you.”

Something crashes against his lips, warm, wet and fast, and it gnaws like a starved beast.

Before Elliot can process that he couldn't breathe, the round ends. Half the heat immediately drains from his body and he feels painfully alone. Cold.

A tear runs down his cheek. He couldn't take waiting anymore.