you be the pages & I'll be the lines; you be the cover & I'll be the spine

[cadaverdaddy]

Who: thecorpsedaddy & break_xerxes
When: Evening of 18th of January; around 7pm.
Where: Undertaker's home in Sector 4.
Summary: After days of deliberation, there's really no other way to rectify this situation, is there?
Warnings: Morbidity, Sob, & Character death.

Comments

[break_xerxes]

It was just as queer to Break, as it would have been to Undertaker, sharing such close perimeters with another. But this time was needed, so much was at stake here, Break knew the risks he was taking, he knew the consequences.

After the fist day, he was growing more used to Undertaker and his ways, the darkness that lived in his home was a welcome practice of what was to become of him. Watching, through his ears, nose and hands, as Undertaker worked hard and with such grace on the jobs he took on. Break even gave some respect to those his host worked on, keeping his distance from the basement when asked to, inside he'd taken to smelling books and fingering the mannequin of its parts and crooks.

As he crawled into bed that last night, Break turned to face Undertaker, knowing he couldn't see him, but knowing that the other would be laying there silently watching him, sure, that would creep most people out.. not Break. There was a comfort in having Undertaker looking at him in the darkness of both his eye and the room, it was that care and being looked after as if he was already dead, Break admired it so. His hand reached up, feeling for that cool face, fingers shifting until they found an ear then hair. That was when he smiled, combing digits through it was relaxing, nice.

He knew come the morning, they would be making sure everything was set up right, his last meal and drink. Undertaker would help him dress just right and then.. and then...

[cadaverdaddy]

To have another breath in his house, around him, perhaps even haunting him as he worked was something that far from unnerved Undertaker. The lack of sound in his house was something he was used to, as there was no breath or beat to resonate other than his own. The floor creaked when Break went exploring through his shelves of books and instruments, when he inspected his half-made caskets and human mannequin, and Undertaker listened to the chorus through the his work from below, where everything smelt of death and chemicals. Even when he came out of the basement, the aroma clung to him, like the wraiths of old, beckoning him and everything around back down those stairs.

The night previous, when Break had touched his face, he'd been slightly set off, though he hadn't moved. His skin was always chilled, but he himself was never cold. The affection that was given to his hair had sent another wave of questions through his mind. For all he knew of Break, the trails and tribulations that he'd been through with the group called Pandora. With the people who wanted him dead and the ones that he had, in turn, wanted to protect, he had never seen this hatter as being one to touch another easily, not in such a way that could be seen as endearing. Not in this sort of way. But grief did odd things to people, Undertaker knew that well. It changed who they were for a brief stint of time and when the life one is in mourning over is one's own, that factor increases exponentially. And so he didn't shift, acting himself asleep as he continued to watch through the darkness at those unseeing eyes that seemed to know right where his were. If it provided relief for this man so like himself in this time of greatest desperation, he would allow it.

The day following had been spent doing just that. There was no work that was done other than what absolutely had to. The time was spent chattering in nonsense and codes over tea and cake while another delectable dish baked away in the oven to fill their plates with again. Once the daylight hours had whittled away to darkness, the subject had gone more serious as they'd picked out the clothing that Break wanted. A modest and delicious supper was made, followed by another cup of tea and tiramisu. Finally, as the clock struck the hour of seven, Undertaker brought out a soft white nightgown that he'd acquired in the event that someone didn't have clothes for one of his guests. He came to where he'd left Break for this last of preparations: the couch nestled against the outer wall of his living room. Wrapped in the gown was the gun that had been given to him upon their agreement, that he would hold it until the time came.

"Here, this will keep you warm," Undertaker cooed with a giggle bouncing in his voice as he touches Break's shoulder to urge him to stand. His hand remained outstretched, an offer to aid if he were asked. There was only a moment while he waited before he asked, he had to, it had been haunting his mind in these last few hours. "Are you ready?" There was no correct answer, only the one that was right. The one that Break wanted.

[break_xerxes]

How very right it seemed, acting as if Break was already a ghost, it seemed oh so fitting. Break moved silently most of the time anyway's, travelling through the shadows, to shorten the time or so that he didn't bump into anything in his walking, after all, there were parts of Undertakers house he was still not as familiar with. The smell of those chemicals chocked Break at first, his nose really had become so sensitive to scents around him. Undertakers was one scent he'd grown particularly fond of, even if it did reek of embalming fluids and cleaning products.

Break was having his doubts, about what he was asking of Undertaker, about what he was going to try and do in his death and the short time after. He knew people would be trying to stop him, friends and foes alike, but one thing was for sure, Undertaker wouldn't get in his way. This man, this ferry man of the afterlife, he was one person in all this madness that Break truly could trust, with not just his life, but his death too.

The meal had been perfect, as had the tea and pudding that followed that, Break was pleased to have spent his last day in such a way, though it was a strange feeling, he'd accepted he was going to die soon anyway, but to actually plot it out and have someone help him on his way? that was what made him slow down in his walking, in his actions and in his willing to do such a thing. as Undertaker came over to his side, with the items he needed in hand, Break sobered up, nodding, taking a breath before letting his normal smile paint over his pale lips.

His hand came up, touching the one that sat upon his shoulder and in due time, he slowly raised up from his seat. Turning and taking the nightgown, nodding slowly as he ran a finger over the details that covered the buttons and lace around the neck. "Yes. As ready as I'll ever be."

[cadaverdaddy]

That smell was something that Undertaker now no longer even acknowledged was there. In ways, it had even taken away his some of his senses. Only strong scents could be recognized anymore, and he added seasoning to every dish in an effort to be able to taste and enjoy it. Though, it seemed that his house guest didn't mind a little boldness of flavor.

The doubt was clear in the way that Break moved, the way he took his time with most everything. Though, truly, who could blame him? This was not at all the easiest of situations for the blind and ailing man. In fact, for most, it would be impossible, with this level of thought and planning, without that spontaneous edge. Although it was never spoken between them, Undertaker knew the gravity of the job that had been slated for him. He knew just how difficult it would be for a man like this to trust in him enough to allow him to assist, to see him in his most vulnerable of times, and there after. It was a duty that had been set before him, and as all such duties, he would fulfill the request without fail. Even if he himself did not wish for it to happen. He was attached to very few people, as those people would eventually end up on his table. Just as these events would prove.

The smile was mirrored back at the man that sat before him. Perhaps Break could feel it, since he couldn't see it, and would find comfort. When the lithe figure rose, Undertaker did as well, leaving the gun lying on the couch cushion. It would not be needed yet. Standing before the smaller man, Undertaker unfastened the shirt that Break was wearing and slid it off. The mark on his chest was something that he'd seen once before now, and had never whispered a word about. There was no need to ask such questions, despite how tantalizing the information was in his mind. Sliding on the button-up gown over those thin arms, he fastened it up the front, all the way up Break's neck. He'd taken the liberty of this routine without asking, something that was automatic. And though he would never admit to it, it was soothing to do such things, as there was a rising of bile in his chest that he was unaccustomed to.

The words were hard to hear, something that dragged down the corners of the man's smile as he brushed down the lace along the front of the gown in an almost fidgeting manner. He spoke, faintly surprised that his voice carried its normal tone, "If you are not ready, all it takes is an instant to stop." He was trying to assure, to let the other know that if even in that last instant before the trigger was pulled, he were to change his mind, there would be no one there to force any path on him. Stepping back, he allowed the other to read himself as he pleased. Undertaker had little knowledge on how to handle these situations; he'd given his soft words and now he would give space.

Taking the gun in hand, he placed it on the table to the side of the couch, and seated himself in the spot where it had been. A deep breath of his own was taken, as if in all this doubt and contemplation of the action, he'd forgotten to breathe. His eyes were raised, watching the back of the man's figure, waiting patiently. He'd sworn loyalty to this man in his own mind, as thanks for the companionship and trust that the clown had shown him, and no matter what his own emotions were, he would do as he was asked. Even if that took this new-found friend away.

[break_xerxes]

It was a daunting feeling, knowing that you were walking into your demise, with full knowledge of what was going to happen, where you were going to go and what you were going to do after. Break had died here before so he already knew he'd come back, or be sent home.. the only problem with that was that maybe he would be dead back at home too? If that was the case, there was nothing he could really do about it, other then accept it and smile- after all, Break had long since accepted he was going to die sooner rather than later. Having been in many battle before, the clown was well aware that the pain in being shot or stabbed was still going to hurt, the fact that he wanted Undertaker to shoot him through the heart and not the head, cutting the danger of Undertaker harming himself too badly, and yet putting Break through more pain.

Allowing himself to be dressed once more, it was just like being back at the hospital again. His thoughts drifted to Liam as Undertakers hands buttoned up the nightgown, he supposed he might be able to see Liam again, in death that is. Despite his outer image that he painted for everyone to see, Break always believed that, the soul was drawn to what it most wanted in death,- so in his case, he;d wander the planes of non existence with his dear friend, or... his soul would linger on to watch over Sharon, perhaps watch over Shelly from time to time too?

He was ready, even if his face said otherwise. That sinking feeling dragged him down, chocked by the overwhelming sense of darkness that flooded into him from Undertakers touch. Hand, shaking slightly, settled on the backs of the death bringers. Fingers stroking a little, before the take over was finally passed to the other man. "This is nothing more than a little game of hide and seek, my friend. You can look, but you wont catch me around here.... make sure I don't find you where I'm going, or where I will have been." Sighing, smiling with a cock of his head, he was ready, yes, he kept telling himself this. He had regrets, sure, but he'd never voice them... the most pressing one, was that he never did get that final goodbye with Gilbert, though he knew he would be coming back here sooner rather than later.

Shifting over to stand near the side of the couch. "Where do you want me?" His heart started to beat, slow, steady but hard, as if it knew what was about to happen to it. Taking his time was all good and well, but it would only cause his body more stress. ".... I should be asking you, if you're ready? After all... it can't be an easy favour to ask." Nodding, running a hand down the front of his chest, the buttons shifting under his touch. He was ready, yes, he was. That thought crossing through his head again as if he was looking for a reason to stop but couldn't find one. The feeling coming from his bones and muscles was one of annoyance more than anything else. Why was it taking him so long to get on with this. Inhaling, calming his nerves as finally he held his head up high and looked Undertaker dead in the eyes with his own sightless ones.

"Come now, bleed me and make me think no more, I grow colder the more I wait." Smiling, yes, you could see it in his face... he was ready.

[cadaverdaddy]

The desire to be struck dead through the heart rather than the head was one that, when expressed, Undertaker had agreed to without hesitation. After all, he had sworn to himself to act dutifully, regardless of his own feelings. Though, it wasn't often that his personal opinions of the situation came to light as they did with this one. Though, in all fairness and honesty, becoming connected with another person wasn't something that the mortician opted to do often either. Life was a fragile thing, always, and this was perfect proof of such. Once entangled in the thread of another person, one felt the ripples and the give when it was cut. Undertaker had deemed this not only an unnessecary cost, but also one that hinder his work, a long time ago. And yet, here he was, with the same sort of knots and bile churning in his stomach that he knew the Clown had to be feeling, though the extent was unclear. Nonetheless, he smiled, and never allowed that smile to fall away, despite the fact that Break couldn't see it. Maybe it made him feel better as well.

Once Break was properly dressed and standing before him like a soldier before a firing squad, Undertaker couldn't keep the snicker from falling out of his lips. It seemed that he laughed at the most inappropriate times, when it was seen as offensive to do so. Though it wasn't for such reasons at all. It was a reflexive response, one he didn't take note of, like breathing. The seizing sound increased for a brief instant at the posing that this was merely a game. Truly, it wasn't that he was insensitive to the pains of the man before him, or that he took no notice of the quivering in the hand on his own, but rather, he felt better when he allowed his tension to become mirth. His hand opened, palm up, to allow Break to continue the touches if it so soothed him. "There's no certainty that I will heed your warning to remain away from you should you return here."

Slowly, Undertaker patted his hand gently on the cushion of the couch beside him. "This is not a cold death, my friend, this is a favor, as you so said. There is no need for things to be so rigid." He would have laughed at his own pun, had his giggling ever actually ceased to hiss and bounce from his lips in a tinseled whistle. A hand reached out to take hold of Break's wrist, to tug him down toward the couch before the clown was given the chance to protest. There were scenes running through his head of how he wanted this to happen. There were many reasons behind his means, though most of all, he was curious. For a man so like himself, how would Break react in the face of death, when the little reaper beside him was treating the situation with a most nonchalant hand and was nothing but fits of giggles.

[break_xerxes]

If anything, it was one way Break could say thank you to Undertaker, for doing this for him. Most people would have went with through the head, but that would have been too much mess for his kind killer to clean up. No, the chest was best for this kind of thing. A nice little hole, in and out, Undertaker just had to mind how he was going to position the Clown, so not to graze himself with the bullet. Break was not normally one for showing his emotions, if anything, he was the same as Undertaker, a fake smile and laugh to mask his feelings, so it was fine, really, as the death bringer chuckled a sweet chorus of rattling giggles.

That hand was warm, the one offered to him, taking it just felt right. Break turned on his heels, feeling with his knees for the couch edge, for Undertakers legs and the pillow he had by his side for Break to lay against. It was, far more easy for Break to simply sit down, slide over the other male, on account of him not being able to see at all now. And so that's exactly what he did. Straddling at first, slowly and carefully turning and deciding he wanted to stay there, resting in Undertakers lap, his back to the his creepy friends chest, feeling that cold heart beat against his own through his rips, it was... strangely soothing. "How romantic, Mister Lycoris, you will follow me into the dark?"

Settling in, shuffling some and raising his arms up, letting his elbows bend in pointed arches, his hands, fingers like long albino candy canes, felt over that smiling face that lay behind him. Touching, feeling and smoothing into hair, pushing under that hand and caressing over the deep set scares that bridged over Undertakers nose. "I should say the same to you, you seem... cold today." It was a point, perhaps Undertaker really did view Break as dear to him, the Clown never really did think much on how other saw him any more, just on how he hide what he felt for others. He was ready though, as he smiled, tipped his head back to look up at Undertaker from an angle.

[cadaverdaddy]

To say that he wasn't surprised to have the weight in his lap would have been a lie. He'd expected something a little less personal, though to predict Break was quite near impossible. It was part of what made him so interesting. Coupled with the level of similarities that they shared, and the overall intrigue that Undertaker had for the clown, it made for a little pierrot utterly irresistible. Shifting his own weight softly on the couch, he attempted to settle in. There was no personal concern for the stray bullet, once it had done its duty. This world was a place where death was only partially certain, and to test those lines was something that the man had been itching to do for a while. Though, that was all previous to the awakening of his nature, and with it, a body that was claimed to be almost immortal.

With the hands on his face, Undertaker laughed softly, one sliding up beneath Break's raised limbs, letting his own spidery fingers stroke along the pale face. Perhaps it seemed like a bit of a game, or rather, an effective distraction technique. The moment passed and one hand laid, without thought, on the smaller man's thigh as he was looked up on with that unseeing eye. The other hand shifted to take hold of the small gun that had been given to him. "I am always cold, little Pennywinkle, perhaps you haven't noticed until now," he jested with a sing-songy tone. Another laugh came from his lips as he lifted the weapon and pressed it gently into the hands of the clown. It wasn't that he wished for their time to be cut short, or for Break's life to be so for that matter, but to linger would cause doubts. There had been enough pain in this man's brief time here to warrant taking violent measures of change.

His hands cupped beneath the gun, first one then another, to cradle it where Break could take hold. This was not going to be a murder, not in the least. He'd offered to help, but to not take on such an act completely on himself. This would be an assisted suicide; a merciful act of friendship to ease the pain of someone who, in a short time, had become close to him.

[break_xerxes]

It just wouldn't be right, now would it? had Break not invaded Undertakers personal space, even in such a time as this. He was sure, that had it been the other way around, had for some, unforeseen reason, it had been Undertaker laying there in Break's lap, there was no doubt the man would have been draped around in some, rather personal way. Then again, it was easy to notice the ways in which, the two blanched males resembled one another. Perhaps that was the attraction? that was there own sirens call to one another? Opposites attract, but little birds make themselves stalk raving bonkers, by becoming infatuated with their own reflection, while being kept in cages, do they not?

Taking hold of the gun, once his little exploration of Undertakers face was through. He's seen what he wanted to, that smile, it was what Break was looking for. To make sure, to be sure that he was alright with what Break had asked of him... he would never ask such a thing from Gilbert, how could he? No, Undertaker was his only choice and a top class choice at that. Stroking over the gun's smooth metal, Break almost nuzzled it to his cheek, feeling it cold metallic kiss, listening to the silent comforting promises, that the bullets held in their shells.

"My shirt." He pressed his chest compartment forwards, wanting Undertaker to unbutton the top few, so that the end of the barrel could press against his milky flesh. It was more a favour to Undertaker than himself, sure, it would burn the entry wound and need cleaning, but at least there would be no little scraps of fabric forced inside his muscles from the cloth being over his chosen place. It was... distracting, having Undertakers arms around him, almost comforting, though Break always knew there was a chance, this time, he would never return. Maybe that was the reason for him lingering? to know that in his last moments, he was able to enjoy the warmth of another, no matter how cold that other was.

His hands trembled some, Break closed his sightless eye, as did he too close the lid over that hollow socket. Slightly, already blue tinted lips quivered as they opened to take an inhale of air, air that was so close to Undertakers own face, he was more or less, simply inhaling the others exhaled breath.

[cadaverdaddy]

Without a doubt, had their roles been reverse, Undertaker would be writhing about in Break's lap in fits of giggles. His hands would be all over the clown's face, through his hair, feeling over neck and shoulders until Break himself felt it necessary to pull the trigger. If only just to end the touches. In so many ways were these men the same, as if they were standing on different sides of the same mirror, hands up, palm to palm through shimmering glass. Naturally, the pair would laugh and peck at the barrier between them, confused by the closeness with such simultaneous separation. Perhaps one would be desperate enough with the desire to touch that they would resort to violence to remove the obstacle. Or perhaps not, perhaps they would both be content with the playful torture.

When the clown ceased his awkwardly angled inspection of Undertaker's face, the man's smile faded just a bit around the edges. He wouldn't show his discomfort in what was going to occur, after all, there were more legitimate reasons to continue on this path than there were to stop. The man of death understood that to the core but… there was still hesitance. One that made him take pause even, watching the way Break adoringly cradled the firearm. It was his salvation, or so the clown had told him. It was the chance he had to make the writhing pain inside him end, and to take the young mistress he was meant to protect back to where they came from. There was a stark pain of loss that was already settling itself just beneath Undertaker's lungs, curling up atop his diaphragm. It made it difficult to exhale, to push the air out of his lungs as if doing so would whisk away the sleeping sand of the man against him.

However, the reaction of his hands was instantaneous, reaching around to pluck open the top three buttons of the nightgown. There wasn't a thought given as to why, surely Break had his reasons. Undertaker had no right to question them. The events were moving too fast for the man's mind to comprehend, until the moment that he felt the little dove's hands shaking, and the matching breath on the side of his face. A long instant of hesitation passed, something uncharacteristic for the man of jokes and smiles. It had come to this, down to the blink of an eye that changed everything. And he could feel the fear. Slowly, his arms thread themselves around Break's chest, elbows to the other's ribs, as his large, spindly hands cradled the gun, giving it stability. A poor shot would end in so much more pain that his new friend deserved, and would press him into a situation of committing murder in order to make that agony stop. Without realizing, Undertaker tipped his head to the side, chin pressed against Break's forehead. Nothing was said, there was no need for words between them; a situation that occurred quite often.

I will hold the tool, but I will not do the deed in your name. You deserve a more honorable end than that.

[break_xerxes]

And without a doubt, had that been the case, Break would have been the one laughing and waving those floppy sleeves of his, like some deranged butterfly. That was perhaps the only difference, Break would have allowed the touching, he wouldn't pull the trigger, but enjoy the affection while it lasted. Though... he would also be glad as soon as the touching stopped, for the reason being, he wouldn't have to explane to Undertaker why he wasn't stopping him. The idea, that Undertaker was much the same as his own reflection was a frightening enough, to show to another, that very human side of him. Perhaps he would lash out, should he want to reach the Undertaker on the other side of the looking glass, Break was all for self punishment, so long as it was suffered in silence, and between these two? What with the onstant giggling and chomping of teeth? that was unlikely to happen.

Break had no clue that Undertaker had stopped smiling, it was one of those rare moments that he was actually happyhis sight had left him. If Undertaker had asked him now? Perhaps he would have changed his mind... only perhaps, but then there would be no need for their current position in this situation, and Break was enjoying his last moments. While cuddling up to his chosen instrument of death, Break hoped to himself, that he would die this time, that he would be sent home to rest in peace, leave everyone behind and do something for himself for a change. He should be careful what he wished for, as he might just get it. His first port of call, in death, would be to seek out Sharon, kidnap her if you like, hold her tightly, not let go, and pray that his possesive hold on her, would be enough to cling onto her form as he was sent through the core and back to their home?

How comforting the hands of death felt, Break could have possibly never done this, had he been alone, and no one from his home world would truly understand why he was doing this. Maybe they would say they get it, they see why he thought this way, but Break was never known to be one to explain himself, there was never going to be a good reception waiting for this plan of his to hatch. But Undertaker, helped without question, he was loyal and brave with a smile on his face, much like Break had been at one time, back when he was a noble kinght. Yes, in this darkening moment, Undertaker was Break's black Knight, his perfect last lullaby.

Feeling the chin atop of his head, his bangs slipping to shape his narrow ivory jaw, Break smiled, feeling the odd little change in Undertakers breathing. Remorse? No, that wouldn't do at all, so, to calm the other, Break started to talk, distract Undertaker with words, giving him a question to think of its answer rather then ponder about break. Pressing the barrel of the gun to his chest, its had to rest over his seal, that was after all where his heart was.

"Which is heavier... a half moon or ... BANG! ... a full moon?"

Halfway through his riddle, Break pulled the trigger and dropped the smoking gun in his lap. It stung... it was a far different feeling than being stabbed. Like someone had just drilled a hole straight through him. The hand that had held the gun, fefll to rest over the wound. Bringing that hand to his face, he couldn't see the thickness of the slick vermilion that coated his fingers, but he could smell it. Huffing a breath and chuckling out what sounded like an 'ow'. Smiling, breathing shallow and fast though even that started to hurt... he... he really didn't have long left.

[cadaverdaddy]

How suitable that the butterfly, while deranged and aimless on the wind, was a symbol of death and passing in many cultures. The metamorphosis. The altering of one's path into another stage of life. Yes, how suitable for this moment, for the intentions that Break had behind it. While Undertaker's own physical touches were limitless, they were for detached reasons of fun and curiosity. His fingers always itched to know, to feel, but never for reasons tender. He would wiggle his fingers through the cracks in the glass, skinning flesh from bones if it could get him closer to this man so intriguing.

His thoughts were clouded with the things that could have passed between them, and the things that already had. This world was still not familiar to him in the way that assured him Break would return. His routine and practice were still with those who remained beneath the surface of the ground, even here. The concept of revival was logically understood but somehow, it still felt very eternal. Very much like loss. Perhaps this was what it was to feel grief, but even still, there was no certainty within himself as to what he would call it. He'd mourned the loss of the Phantomhive for many reasons, some of those that were mirrored in the man that held the gun as close as one would a lover. But why was it that he couldn't breathe?

The searing heat that settled in before the sound of the shot ever reached his ears made him exhale. That heat rested within his ribs, burning and comforting. There was a release in his chest, the binds coming away in that moment as he watched the silver drop from Break's hands. His own followed suit, disregarding the smoldering weapon, as its job was through. However, for the Undertaker, his was only beginning.

"The half," he answered without hesitation, his body leaning back to rest more heavily against the couch. The liquid warmth that soaked through, from two sources due to the nature of their position. One arm wrapped around the man's waist to provide support, so that his soon to be limp body would not fall in an undignified manner to the cushion of floor. The other snaked around slender shoulders, to pushed Break's head back against his shoulders, to urge rest and sleep as he explained the reasoning behind his answer. "The full moon is certainly lighter, after all. Though, as least the half moon never loses his smile." His voice was strange in the room ringing from the shot. He briefly wondered if someone had heard, if they would come to aid. A snicker came from Undertaker's lips where they found themselves, the side of his grin resting on Break's forehead so that their words would not be heard by another soul.

[break_xerxes]

If bread was allowed to dream of someday being a butterfly and flying away, then so was Break. It was a perfect way to describe the man, once in his past he had already gone through such metamorphosis, from the man he had been, to this butterfly he was now... what did a butterfly change into next? Or was that the end of the line for him? Was death a certain promise now, one that could not be broken? There were far too many cracks in Break's side of the glass, Undertaker would have to prod carefully, should Break come undone in his hands, it would shatter the image they both so admired in their madness.

Could Undertaker not listen to the prattling of Break's corpse as he did the other that were lucky enough to rest under the floor and in the basement of his home? They could still share many a secret, as Break's body was riddled with them. Though, the Clown know he wouldn't, Undertaker was far too honest a man, that he would not venture those fingers inside of Break's broken cage, not even if permission had been granted, for the bond that tied them slowly together wouldn't allow it.

It was a foolish mistake, one Break should have thought through. He had been so keen to pull the trigger, to finally do it, that he'd not taken into consideration, the position of Undertaker behind him. Not only did his deathly friend help Break to pull the trigger, but he shared the very same pain too before he would watch him die.

"Y-yes... huff the full is lighter... tho-hugh.. choke the half ... the half has such a.. ah..."

He felt up with that vermilion stained hand of his, touching Undertakers lips, stroking tips over them before sliding them up, over his ear, tracing its shape, as if he was looking for something on the others face. Turning his skull from the resting position it had been set to rest in. using what strength he had left, to push himself, arch himself up.

Breaks head tipped back, nose brushing Undertakers mouth until it pressed lightly to the tip of his own. parting his lips to talk, to finish what he was saying. "... a bright and Ugh~ welcoming smile.." A thumb caressed over Undertakers left eye, palm resting upon his cheek... it was colder already, the blood draining from that wound in his chest. Break trembled in a light convulsion, a breath spluttered out of his mouth before gasping his finale one in. Holding it in his burning lungs, Break ghosted his lips over Undertakers, slowly, he leant into a kiss. It was gentle, lips parting against the death bringers, closing with them in a dance before he continued this tender little exchange.

That thumb shook some, applying pressure to Undertakers eye, as if he was trying to grab at him, to hold on to what little time he had left. The clowns body finally slumped some, lips leaving the others as a death rattle left his lips, that hand sliding from its place over Undertakers eye, and coming to rest upon his chest.