Im crying i hated making this project but i just had to because this scene really broke my heart ☹ This was based on an awesome Spy x family AU fanfic because i need more sxf content uhhh yeah this story's not really for the youngins so ask me if you want to read it ------------------- QUICK CONTEXT: ------------------------- anya forger dies at 19 and damian is devastated because he loves her (but never told her because he is DUMB), so he investigates her murder and finds out his father (Donovan) hired someone to kill her. But then Donovan poisons him (NOOO) Damian goes bye bye (THERE'S ALSO AN AFTERLIFE BUT I'M TOO LAZY TO EXPLAIN ALL OF THAT)
--------------------- SOURCE ------------------------- "His heel caught the first step, and he rotated. His shoulder tried to demolish a stair and lost, then his elbow searched for ground, and his head found the corner, then a burst of light burst behind his eyes. Concrete made a bad pillow. It scraped against his cheek, wet from blood or rain or both. He couldn’t feel his legs. That seemed important. Breathing became a chore, but he kept inhaling like it would fix him. Each tasted like metal and city grease and… oh, that was him. That was his blood. He tried to lift his head, but it lolled back down. He was dying. That simple, hideous reality settled across his brain, followed by the fact nobody was watching. Except, maybe… his mind latched onto a thought like a drowning man clawing for flotsam. Anya. Pink hair, green eyes, laughter that escaped without permission. God, he was so in love with her. The kind you buried because it couldn’t survive daylight. Because you were nineteen and an idiot and thought pushing her away meant strength, because your father would’ve called it weakness, because… because you were you. And then she was there. Anya crouched beside him, hair catching non-existent light. She looked at him like he was ridiculous, like he was infuriating. “Anya,” he croaked. She smiled wider, as if waiting for him to say it all along. “Hey,” she said fondly and unimpressed, “you look terrible.” He laughed, which his body took as an excuse to quit breathing for a worrying moment. “It’ll be okay.” It broke him, the happiness punching through the poison and the pain and the embarrassment. He managed the only thing he could. “Hi, Anya.” She smiled, and her thumb swept his temple again. “You’re okay.” Damian Desmond, twenty-five, pride of nobody, died at the bottom of a stairwell, dreaming of a dead girl who promised him it would be okay." - The Bar Closes at 100 Seconds to Midnight
