7 seconds

What were people supposed to think in their last moments? Xenith wasn't sure but he knew what he thought, he thought, "I hope he never forgets me. I hope I weigh on his mind for the rest of his life, I hope he'll think of me every moment of every second of every day." Those were the selfish thoughts rousing his capacity for thought in time with every punch slammed into his jaw, his cheek, his eye, his chest, his shoulder and chin. But surprisingly he had another thought. A thought that didn't quite make sense to him. He'd always known he was a selfish vengeful man, thoughts only to benefit his own self, but as two large calloused hands wrapped around his neck, thumbs pushing bruises into the base of his neck, involuntarily tears leaving the instigator of his death faceless, a blur of splotchy color he'd never truly see. His surprising thought was, "I hope he forgets. I hope he never finds out, he'll blame himself and he's never been one to take deaths lightly. I want him to live a happy guiltless life even if that involves erasing my memory from Maxciel's existence." Xenith realized, even more than his deep selfish thoughts of wanting to imprint himself as a horrible painful memory on Maxciel's life, he wanted him to be happy. Truly, he couldn't understand that desire it simply didn't make sense. Maxciel's happiness would do him no justice, do him no good, no favors. Xenith was going to die, he'd never even get to see this happiness Maxciel would be feeling. Not only that, Maxciel was the very reason Xenith was going to die, yet here he was wishing him only the best. The benefactor of the hands tightening on his neck, he hoped his life was the blissful equivalent of heaven. Because of that thought Xenith thought, surely, he was a fool, certain, absolutely, he was a fool. More than anything, desperately, Xenith wishes he could wish Maxciel every worst the world has to offer. Yet be find he can't and he hates himself for it. Xenith's vision grew absent and with it his consciousness. They say just before you die, you're granted seven seconds of reliving your happiest memories. For Xenith, Maxciel was his seven seconds. 1 second passes as long as a lifetime perhaps because it was one of his last before his brain shut down for good. For the first second he remembered Maxciel resting his face in his lap as he cried over the lives he'd taken. His lap felt warm with the heat of Maxciel's skin, though he'd never admit it, even in the moment, unsure and wrongly certain he'd never share Maxciel's feelings he'd enjoyed that moment and would relive it in his head for every moment he felt alone as time would pass. 2 seconds pass. A moment just as endless as the first. In this moment he remembered that first morning he'd waken up to realize he wasn't alone. The day Maxciel first cursed him with his lingering presence, he'd also never admit that, but seeing him that morning, feeling the lack of silence and the warmth of another's presence, that was a feeling he found he'd cherish for the short rest of his life. 3 seconds pass. His mind is filled with the image of Maxciel's face pressed against his own, he could see the flutter of his eyelashes, every pore in his skin, Maxciel had closed his eyes in the moment they'd kissed but Xenith kept his wide open, he wanted to see every bit of his face, he knew in that moment he'd never wanted to miss any of the expressions Maxciel made, not for anything, as he was quite certain there was nothing more lovely than the way his face would contort, his eyes curved in smile or his nose scrunched in disgust. 4 seconds pass. He thought of that time Maxciel made him angry and in his attempts to coax him into forgiveness he'd torn apart the kitchen attempting to bake brownies that came out a goopy mess, bone white egg shells peeking out through the severely undercooked batter. At the time he was pissed beyond belief, but as soon as Maxciel had cleaned his mess he'd felt an overwhelming warmth crash through him like a tidal wave, that was the first time someone had done something with only his benefit in mind, he found, he loved that foreign feeling of being put first. 5 seconds pass memories that doesn't exist, ones he's sure he's made up flood through his brain. A life beside Maxciel, hand in hand, dressed in white and black like an old movie. Blush pink flowers line a path to the front of a church. They walk each other down the isle that felt to drag on with anticipation. When they'd reached the front crowds of people were seen before them, none of them a clue who Xenith was, the things he'd done, knowing him only as the man Maxciel had come to love. Tears flooded his eyes and their lives were promised to one another. Perhaps there's a universe where that reality exists, that's what Xenith would like to believe so he will. That false memory filled his last two seconds of thought letting him die with his heart flooded with love and elation. Cheers erupted around the room as Xenith breathed his last, guards that had long been called to dispel the fight finally took action, having waited for Xenith to die before pulling the man away from Xenith's now lifeless corpse. And of course, as always, life will go on.