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Dove had never known fear. Not really.
Fear was for humans, for people who had limits—who had to worry about things like time and death and sickness. Fear was for the people who looked up at him with reverence, who whispered his name in prayers, who worshiped him like he was something untouchable.
He wasn’t supposed to feel things like this. Like something was slipping through his fingers, something he couldn’t control.
But right now, sitting in the dim candlelight of their shared home, watching Roman—his Roman—cough into his hand, trembling like a flickering flame in the wind, Dove felt something he never had before.
Something cold. Something like terror.
“…You should let me do it,” Dove said, voice quieter than usual.
Roman didn’t look at him. His dark hair fell in front of his face, barely illuminated by the golden light of the candles. His shoulders were tense, his breathing uneven. He was always good at hiding it, acting like nothing was wrong, like everything was fine. But Dove wasn’t stupid. He could see it. The way his hands shook. The way his body curled in on itself, like it was giving up.
Like it was preparing.
“No.”
Dove’s fingers twitched.
He forced a smile, tilting his head. “That’s not an answer, love.”
Roman finally lifted his gaze, eyes barely visible beneath the messy curtain of his hair. His expression was unreadable, but his voice—his voice was steady. Firm.
“That's my answer.”
Dove let out a small, sharp breath through his nose. He was trying to be patient. He really was. But patience had never been his strong suit, especially not when it came to Roman. Especially not when his husband was dying in front of him, and he was expected to just… accept it.
No. No, he wouldn’t.
“That’s ridiculous,” Dove scoffed, shifting forward, reaching out to brush Roman’s bangs out of his face. His fingers barely made contact before Roman flinched, pulling back, and something in Dove’s chest cracked.
Roman never pulled away from him.
“…Why?” Dove asked, quieter now. The sharpness was gone, replaced with something raw, something aching. “Why won’t you let me save you?”
Roman exhaled slowly, closing his eyes. His fingers curled against the fabric of his sweater, gripping the soft material like it could anchor him.
“I don’t want to be saved,” he said.
Something inside Dove snapped.
His wings flared out, golden feathers catching the candlelight as he shot up from his chair, knocking it back with a harsh scrape against the floor.
“That’s not your choice to make!” he shouted.
Roman didn’t even flinch. He just looked at him, steady and quiet, waiting. Like he knew Dove was going to break eventually.
And god, that made it worse.
Dove’s breath came fast, sharp, burning in his chest. His hands curled into fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms. He had never felt powerless before. He wasn’t made for it. He was made for worship, for control, for being the one who decided how things ended.
But this?
Watching the only person he loved waste away, knowing there was a way—his way—to stop it, and being told no?
It was unbearable.
“You’re being selfish,” Dove hissed.
Roman let out a small, tired laugh. “You’re one to talk.”
Dove’s jaw clenched. “You’re acting like this is some noble sacrifice. Like this is something you’re supposed to accept because it’s what humans do.” He took a step forward, his golden wings trembling, every inch of him radiating frustration. “But you don’t have to be human, Roman. You don’t have to be like this.”
Roman finally met his gaze fully, tired but unwavering. “And what am I supposed to be instead?”
“My husband,” Dove said, his voice cracking. “Forever.”
Silence.
Roman’s eyes softened, but there was something final in them, something unshakable.
“…I already am,” he murmured. “Even if it’s not forever.”
Dove felt something in his chest break.
His breath hitched. His fingers twitched at his sides, aching to reach for Roman, to shake him, to make him understand. But all he could do was stare, wide-eyed, as something hot pricked behind his eyes.
No. No, he didn’t cry. He never cried. He was a god. He was eternal.
But right now, standing in front of the only person who ever mattered, he felt small.
“Roman,” Dove said, and it wasn’t sharp or arrogant or demanding. It was a plea.
Roman exhaled softly and stood up, his movements slower than they used to be, his body weaker. Dove saw it all. He saw the way the light caught in his dark hair, the way his wolf ears flicked at the sound of Dove’s unsteady breathing. He saw the necklace Dove had given him—a delicate gold chain resting against his collarbone, proof of their bond, of the life they built together. Strung together by Dove’s magic.
And then Roman stepped forward and cupped Dove’s face in his hands.
Dove froze.
Roman’s touch was warm, gentle, and impossibly steady. His thumbs brushed against the sharp lines of Dove’s cheekbones, grounding him in a way that felt unfair.
“I love you,” Roman whispered. “But I won’t change for you.”
Dove’s breath shattered.
His hands shot up, gripping Roman’s wrists, his touch desperate. “You’d rather die than stay with me?”
Roman closed his eyes for a moment, his expression tightening, like he was bracing himself.
Then, softly, he shook his head. “I’d rather live the way I was meant to.”
Dove couldn’t breathe.
Dove felt like the air had been stolen from his lungs. Like someone had reached inside his chest and ripped something vital out, leaving him gasping, aching, bleeding.
His grip on Roman’s wrists tightened. He could feel the warmth of his skin, the faint, steady pulse beneath his fingertips. Proof that he was still here. Still alive.
For now.
His voice, when it finally came, was raw. “You talk about what you were meant to be like it’s something set in stone. Like you weren’t mine from the moment I saw you.”
Roman exhaled softly. “Dove—”
“No.” Dove’s voice cracked, his golden eyes burning with something desperate. “You don’t get to say my name like that. Like you’re comforting me. Like—like you’re the one who’s losing something.”
Roman’s expression shifted, but he didn’t pull away. He never did, no matter how many times they fought, no matter how sharp Dove’s words could get. He just held his gaze, quiet and unshaken.
“Dove,” he murmured, his voice steady, “this was always going to happen.”
Something inside Dove snapped.
“You don’t get to decide that,” he hissed. “Not when I could fix it. Not when I could make it so you never have to leave me.”
Roman sighed, his fingers flexing slightly against Dove’s face before dropping away, leaving his skin cold in their absence.
“That’s not fixing it,” he said quietly. “That’s just—making me something else. Something I was never meant to be.”
Dove’s hands curled into fists. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
Roman gave him a small, tired smile. “For me, it is.”
Dove hated that smile. Hated how calm he was, how certain. Like he had already made peace with something Dove refused to accept.
“You’re being selfish,” Dove whispered, his voice shaking now.
Roman huffed a small laugh, tilting his head. “You already said that.”
“Because it’s true!” Dove’s voice rose, his wings flaring out in frustration, his whole body trembling with something overwhelming. “You’re choosing to leave me. You’re choosing to—”
His breath hitched. He pressed his lips together, his jaw clenching, his whole body reeling from the weight of what he couldn’t bring himself to say.
Roman stepped closer, slowly, carefully, like Dove was something fragile. His hand reached out, resting gently against Dove’s chest, right over his heart.
Dove shuddered.
“I’m not choosing to leave you,” Roman murmured. “I’m choosing to be me for as long as I can.”
Dove squeezed his eyes shut.
His breath shook.
Then, before he could stop it—before he could even process it—he broke.
Dove broke like a dam collapsing under the weight of a flood.
His knees nearly buckled, and his hands shot out, grabbing onto Roman like a lifeline. His fingers curled into the fabric of his sweater, gripping it so tightly it nearly stretched. He pressed his forehead against Roman’s shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut, his breath coming out in sharp, ragged gasps.
“Please,” Dove whispered, and it was almost unrecognizable. He had never begged for anything in his entire existence. He had never needed to. But now, with Roman standing here, warm and alive and still slipping through his fingers, he didn’t care about pride or power or anything else.
He just cared about this.
Roman didn’t move at first. Didn’t push him away. Didn’t speak. Just stood there, feeling how Dove trembled under his touch, how his golden wings sagged, how his fingers clutched at him like he was afraid to let go.
Then, slowly, carefully, Roman’s arms came up around him.
One hand pressed against Dove’s back, the other cradling the back of his head, threading into his messy golden hair. His touch was gentle, steady, the way it always was when Dove let himself be soft around him.
“Shh,” Roman murmured, barely above a whisper. “I’ve got you.”
Dove let out a sound that wasn’t quite a sob, wasn’t quite a breath—just something shattered, something raw.
He wasn’t supposed to feel this way.
He was supposed to be untouchable. He was supposed to command worship, to hold the world in his hands, to be the thing people prayed to when they wanted to be saved.
But here he was, clinging to a mortal, coming undone in his arms.
“Tell me what I need to do,” Dove whispered, voice breaking. “Tell me what will make you stay.”
Roman exhaled, long and slow, his fingers tightening slightly in Dove’s hair.
“Just be with me,” he said. “Until the end.”
Dove flinched.
That—those words—they shouldn’t have felt like knives. But they did.
Dove pulled back just enough to look at him, to see him. Roman’s face was calm, but his eyes—his eyes were sad.
“You’re asking me to just sit here and watch you die,” Dove whispered, voice hoarse.
Roman’s lips pressed together.
“I’m asking you to love me while I’m still here.”
Dove’s vision blurred. His breath hitched. His whole body felt too tight, too full of something too big to contain.
Then, without thinking, without hesitating, he grabbed Roman’s face and kissed him.
It wasn’t soft.
It wasn’t gentle.
It was desperate, teeth clashing, lips unsteady, hands gripping, holding, refusing to let go.
Roman gasped against his mouth but didn’t pull away.
And for a moment—just a moment—Dove could pretend that time wasn’t moving forward. That Roman wasn’t breaking apart piece by piece. That he wasn’t losing him.
For a moment, Dove could pretend that this could last forever.
But it wouldn’t.
And they both knew it.
The thought hit Dove like a blow to the chest, and suddenly, he was crying, the tears slipping between them, their lips trembling against each other.
Roman pulled back, barely an inch, his forehead pressing against Dove’s. His breath was uneven, his own eyes wet now, his hands still buried in Dove’s golden hair.
“Dove,” Roman whispered, pleading this time.
Dove shook his head rapidly, refusing to let go.
“Just let me—”
“Dove.”
And that was when he felt it.
Roman was shaking. His breaths were coming out shorter, his body weaker, his weight leaning into Dove just slightly, like he was losing strength, like—
Like time was running out.
Dove’s heart stopped.
And then
So did Romans..