Frost

Cold rain pounded the roof of the bus stop, as if trying to knock the last bits of warmth out of Frost. He sat hunched over in his soaking wet uniform, clutching a tattered photograph. It was of all of Delta Force. All of them gone.

You sat next to each other, but there was already a chasm between you. He knew it would be like this. He always knew.

“You’re leaving,” his voice was quiet, but all the pain in the world trembled in it.

You nodded, unable to look him in the eye. He had seen too much. He remembered too much.

“I can’t…” you started, but the words got stuck in your throat.

“I know,” he interrupted, not letting her finish. “I know.”

His fingers squeezed the photo so hard it crumpled. His eyes, usually so hard, were now empty. Like an icy desert where nothing alive remained.

“All my hopes for love…” he whispered, “will go away with you.”

You wanted to object, to say that it wasn’t so, but he raised his hand, stopping you.

• No need. You will forget me. And that’s… normal.

The rain fell harder, mixing with something salty on his cheeks. He didn't wipe away the tears. Let them flow. Let them wash away at least some of this heaviness.

• Frost... - your voice trembled.

"Go away," he said softly, almost kindly. "Before I start screaming. Before I start begging you to stay."