All the empathy Vic had felt after Butch’s attempt at punishing Henry evaporated as soon as he saw his friend’s face spattered with blood. He and Belch shared a look, the kind that spoke a thousand words, as Henry encroached on them like a jungle cat. All rolling shoulders and feline grace the boys had never seen, the dirty blond brandished his knife with a sickening grin that made Belch turn tail to run. He didn’t get a chance, Henry was a being possessed, and he caught their chubbier friend before they knew what hit them. Another stab to an arterial vein, and more blood, hot and wet, splashed across his face and shirt.
Vic’s green eyes were bright with fear as he cowered beside the car, certain he was going to die by his best friend -- and crush’s -- hand. Henry turned to him, gently beckoning him forward with a hand.
“Come here, Vic.” He murmured, and Vic felt his legs moving before he realized the world spun around him. “I won’t hurt you.”
They both knew it was a lie.
Vic held out his wrists, not entirely sure why, and when Henry took one in his hand, he was almost gentle. His smile softened and he kissed each wrist in turn, before gently guiding the blade of his knife down his friend’s arms. When his legs could no longer hold him up, Henry sunk down with him, and placed a kiss on his forehead.
“You won’t have died in vain.” Henry whispered, kissing his forehead and staying crouched beside the other. Vic nodded vaguely, eyelids heavy as he held on tight to Henry’s hand. Grip slowly loosening, the last thing he saw was Henry’s face growing ever closer. A press of lips to his forehead was his final goodbye as he gave a rattling breath and let himself slip away.