» introduction // Summary

Arno is a retired soldier who had to tragically see his best friend fall. He suffers from Survivors guilt as he believes that he could have been able to save his friend if he had noticed his worsening vision. soon after he left the military. After having left the military, he had wandered through life in some form of Disassociated state of mind, and it stayed like that for the next few years.

During that time Arno would oftentimes go to bars to have anything that would keep his mind off of things, during that time he first met Sommelier. The next thing Arno himself can fully recall was sitting in a museum in frontof a painting, this is the exact moment he snapped out of that state of mind. A few weeks later, he would find work within that exact same museum as a tour guide.

» 1. Chapter: Cold snow

Triggerwarning: suicidal thoughts, death of a friend, survivors guilt

The wind was ice cold. It carried fresh and yet untainted snow. Snow that wasn't yet full of fresh blood, snow that was still pure. It was something that Arno clearly wasn't. The falling snow reminded him of how a child would loose their innocence the moment that it would see the horror of what was happening. Arnos fingers felt colder than usual. The snow didn't help in the slightest. The cold started to get to him and yet this was nothing new to him.

He had grown numb to feeling anything, or so he thought. By now he successfully seemed to have become a puppet of this gruesome war. He followed the order that he was given. He was like a loyal dog by now. He didn't bother to question anything anymore. Arno could smell the scent of fresh and old blood surround him as he quickly hurried to set up his position, quickly hiding himself within the snow and watching attentively through that visor. All of this somehow wasn't anything new to him. This wasn't his first day. This wasn't something were he could easily waste time. He knew that. He knew that he needed to follow his orders fast and with exact precision. One wrong step, one sloppily done job and he was dead. One mistake and he could count himself as one of the souls that fell within this war.

He didn't want to die there. He was scared of dying all alone and yet he had to always stay attentive and expect an attack. It took a toll on him. He couldn't care for the pain of the still recovering wound that was on his tail. It would just distract him to think about it. It could get him killed. He was always scared of dying, he has been scared of it ever since he was a child.



Even after hours passed Arno still didn't move an inch, the cold air stung in his lungs by now. The cold air made this feel unbearable and yet he had to bear it. He needed to remain concentrated, his entire body felt stiff. His entire body felt colder than usual. The snow that was surrounding him didn't help one bit. He hated the cold so much and yet it just helped him hide himself better from any thermal cameras that the enemy might have. Arno was painfully aware of how cold a corpse felt like in this winter. Arno was aware that this body probably felt like nearly the same. He felt like he had already died in here and as if he was just a dead soilder not even being allowed peace after everything that he had experienced. He had seen nearly everything by now. He was sure that he was in hell. There was no way that this wasn't hell.

There was not a singular bird singing, the only thing that arno could hear was terror. He could hear how the bullets were fired. He heard how screams tore through the silence, he could hear crying, or maybe he was just imagining that, and yet he did not feel a thing. This was his daily routine by now. He had to fear for his life on a daily basis. He was clearly tired of this by now and yet he didn't even have the courage to fire his gun through his own head. He did not choose the easy way out. His vision seemed a little blurred and yet he didn't even know if it was just his exhaustion making itself known or if it was something else. He couldn't care for it now. He couldn't allow it himself. Arno was just a soilder, he was just someone that would die anyways. Even if he wasn't working at the front of this war, he still knew that he would die. He would die one way or another, if not physically then he would surely be mentally scarred from this.



By the time that the sun was setting arno was unable to recall how many people he had killed with his own hands. He had lost count of it by now. He doesn't even know how long it really had been ever since he was forced into this hell. It had been around a year. Maybe even longer. He doesn't even know how he survived for this long. His head began hurting from the stress again and yet he ignored it. He continued to watch through the lense of his sniper, he could watch his Friend from here. His friend also seemed tired, he seemed to also suffer. They both just wanted to rest. And yet Arno didn't expect it to happen to his friend first. He didn't expect it to happen like that.

Arno averted his eyes from his friend for one singular moment bevor he heard a particular loud shot hall through the night. At least it sounded loud to him. It sounded agonizingly loud. It seemed like the rest of his world went on mute for a second. He suddenly had to watch how a bullet quickly drilled its way into his friends skull. He hated how he suddenly could only watch. He felt like he was suddenly frozen in time. He hated how the sound halled back in his head. His friend didn't even make a sound, his friends body just sank into the ground. His friend, the one person that was keeping him alive was killed right infornt of his very own eyes. Arnos hands began to shake slightly. His breathing stopped for a moment. He knew that there was nothing that he could do and yet he didn't look away. He watched how someone shot the body multiple times. Arno watched how the blood snowly began tainting the pure snow.

This wasn't even the first time that he saw someone get shot right infront of his eyes and yet this time it just hit different.

This time his entire body refused to move. This time he was forced to watch his friend bleed out. He knew that his friend was dead the moment the first bullet hit him, and yet it felt as if he was watching him bleed out. Arno couldn't bring himself to utter a word. Arno couldn't bring himself to do anything. He could only stare.

He doesn't even know for how long he stared at the corpse bevor he felt someone pull him back and remind him of were he was.

Suddenly everything felt heavy, suddenly he was reminded that he needed to rest. He no longer felt tired. There was no way that he could rest now. He felt too shocked to sleep. This would haunt him. He knew it. He knew that he couldn't handle this.

The walk back to the camp he was asigned to felt like an execution. It reminded him that he was alive. It reminded him that this wasn't yet hell, even if it felt like it. It reminded him that his body still worked. It reminded him that he was breathing. Arnos mouth felt dry. His eyes nervously moved around. He felt he watched someone die right infront of him for the very first time again.

Arno couldn't recall the next few days. He worked like a machine again. He didn't cry. He couldn't cry.

He could only bear the shame of his vision failing him. He could only bear the shame of watching his friend die. He could only watch how he himself got thrown out of the military shortly after. He felt like his entire life was no longer in his own hands. Arno could no longer look at himself. He felt like a failure. He was a failure. 



He could only force himself to watch how the coffin was lowered into the ground just a few weeks later. He barely even could do that. Just watching felt like it was tearing him apart. His body felt heavy. He could barely move. His own tail seemed tightly wrapped around his own leg in an attempt to grand himself comfort. It barely worked and yet it was better than nothing. Arno couldn't hear himself breath even if he was the only one that was still near that grave long after the funeral ended. He couldn't breath. He just held onto the dog tag that he was allowed to keep. He could feel the metal in his hand and it felt like he was holding onto a dead body. It was the exact same cold feeling. Arno was just starring once again. He doesn't remember how much time passed until he noticed a presence besides him. He could smell the scent of roses. It was rather strong scent that pulled him out of all of this in seconds.

"Roses aren't that appropriate for funerals, don't you think?"

Arno managed to quietly utter. His voice sounded broken, as if he could start to sob at any moment. He didn't turn towards that person. "Roses represent love and not something for mourning" he added quietly. Arno did recall just what red roses represent. They represented the opposite of this.

"Oh well, you are right about that. But that wouldn't mean that you are forbidden from gifting them to the dead nontheless. Right?"

the person began speaking. They were right, you technically arent restricted to just giving them to the living and yet arno somehow couldn't handle seeing them near his friends grave."But, this isn't why I came here originally. Listen — i know that you might wish to remain here longer but I'd need to ask you to leave."

the person carefully began speaking once again. Their voice seemed soft and as if they wanted to convey a genuine concern. "I know that this might sound rude — i know and of course i will not be forcing you to stop mourning entirely. I know that all of this is a hard pill to swallow, but for your own good. Why don't you return home?"

The person added. Their tone seemed a little distraught to arno. It seemed as if they didn't want to force Arno to leave. It seemed like a suggestion more that anything.

"I watched him die. He got shot right infront of my eyes"

Arno responded. He could not handle having to remind himself of this fact. Arno felt guilty. The guilt seemed to devour him once again. "I had the sniper in my hand, why didn't i fire? Is it my fault?"

He continued to mutter. His grasp tightened around the dog tag. A tear seemed to finally role down Arnos eye. It hurt to remins himself and yet it felt natural to finally let it out. "I swear i could've saved him. I swear it, i failed him"

he added, clearly finally allowing himself to sob, finally allowing himself to let his grief devour him for once. And yet the person didn't persist unpon getting him out, they quietly seemed to listen. They might not answer but it was obvious that they were listening. They didn't judge Arno.

They allowed him to remember, they allowed him to mourn.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't—"

Arno wanted to begin apologising and yet the person stopped him.

"Don't be. I can listen, I promise"



» Chapter 2: Grief

Triggerwarning: mentioning of suicidal thoughts & self hatred

Don't be, i can listen. I promise"

These words recalled themselves in Arnos head for the next few days, he is unable to fully recall what exactly he told the mortician that stood beside him and allowed him to talk, all he truly remembers was that it felt a little relieving. A little comforting.



Everything since his friend died felt blurred. He no longer felt like himself. He felt like a different person. Arno struggled so much with remembering things, it had gotten to a point where he could not even recall what he last had for dinner or if he even ate anything at all. He felt confused, he never knew what to do anymore really. In his opinion his life had no meaning anymore. He could get stabbed and he would no longer attempt to desperately fight for his life. His teeth were dull. He was no longer forced to participate in war. He was no longer able to do what he was always told to do, and all of this was because of his stupid eye condition. He hated his eyes. He hated himself. He was no longer able to be the weapon that he was supposed to be. He was broken. He was unfixable. All he could truly do nowadays was lay in his bed, he didn't even bother to turn on the light, he saw well enough within this darkness. Arno had no energy left within him. He was basically a living corpse that was slowly rotting away. He was stuck in a loop of waking up, falling asleep and then waking up due to a nightmare again. He fully lost sense of time. He wanted to disappear. He curled his tail around his leg once again, he pulled the blanket tighter around himself, once again it was an attempt to comfort himself.

He felt pathetic and yet what else could he do? He couldn't stand being around others, his brain would just tell him that they would die the moment that he wanted to bond with someone, or maybe even the moment that he looked away. He wanted to be alone. He couldn't bear the presence of someone else. He couldn't handle it. He was worthless eighter ways, so why would he bother being around others? He couldn't even sleep properly without witnessing the snow become bloody, without dreaming of people dying, without seeing his own friend attempt to kill him and ask why he let him die. His dreams where horrifying, his dreams felt suffocating.

They were killing him.

He was sure that they would kill him one day.



His suffering, or whatever he would call it was suddenly interrupted by the sharp tone of the door bell being rung. Arno didn't expect anyone, hell he didn't even think that there would be someone to care for him. His parents didn't think about checking up on him after they heard that he was no longer serving in the military and his best friend, the one that always helped him through everything, was shot dead right in front of his eyes, so who would actually care for him? Besides that he didn't want anyone to see him like this. He looked disgusting.

And yet he forced his body to stand up and walk to the door after a few minutes. His body felt heavy, it weighted him down. It felt useless. It hurt to walk, it felt as if some old scars decided to tear open and bleed once again. He had to hold himself up against the wall to guide himself to the door. He still didn't know how to properly handle his vision loss, this was currently the only way how he could move around without bumping into a thousand things.

Then, once Arno reached the doorhandle, he hesitated for a moment. Should he really open it? What if the other person would just kill him right then and there? It wasn't that arno didn't want to die, it was more the fact that he felt too pathetic to actually just let himself get killed like that. He still ended up opening the door nontheless and yet the one that he saw suprised him.

"What do you want here?"

He uttered in a sharp tone. It was clear that Arno did not want anyone to be around him. He was clearly trying to push the one person, that decided to check up on him, away. He just wanted to return to his bed. Arno just wanted to mourn alone. He didn't want to worry about someone seeing him like his.

"Check up on you."

The person responded in a soft manner, it was the same one that allowed him to talk about his feelings just a few days prior.

"Well I am fine, thank you."

Arno responded abruptly bevor he wanted to close the door again. He had no energy to maintain a conversation, his head already hurt due to the way how his nightmares deprived him of sleep. A conversation would just make it worse.

"But i-"

The mortician just wanted to say something but instead was cut off by the door closing shut right in front of his face.



"Of course, I'll check up on you later again"

he uttered to himself bevor leaving Arno alone for a little longer, he understood that people handle their mourning differently. some cannot bear the thought of being alone, while others do not want to be around anyone. He understood easily that Arno was the second type. And yet he also noticed how done Arno looked. He wasn't mad about being pushed away, he was aware that that could have happened and he would just try again on another occasion, but he clearly worried about Arnos wellbeing. The man already seemed so tired and empty on the day of the funeral, he barely knew him and yet he felt some form of want, ne wanted to ensure that Arno wouldn't become the next one that would be on his ‘client’. If he remembered right, then Arno was the only one beside him that actually bothered with showing up. It must have felt extra disheartening to see that not even the parents of said friend cared to show up.



And so the mortician ended up showing up at Arnos apartment a few hours later and yet to his suprise, this time there was no asking of what he was doing here, this time he was just quietly allowed entry. There was no 'hello', there was no 'what are you doing here' there was just a silent glare bevor he could enter. Arno just seemed to continue to watch him. He looked tired, exhausted even, and yet he seemed ready to strike him down if he made one wrong move. It didn't threaten the mortician, he was used to people looking at him like this, looking like they wanted to tear him apart and yet like they have no energy within them.

"Thank you."

The mortician spoke in his usual softhearted tone. He received no answer, these watchful eyes just remained on him.

"It's hard isn't it? Life feels heavy, everything feels so empty and yet your head seems so full of thoughts"

he just continued on, it was an attempt to get Arno to warm up a little more to him again. He felt heavily unwelcome and yet, once again, this was nothing new.

"It's okay though, take all of the time that you need."

the mortician added, a soft smile was on his face as he quietly offered Arno something small to eat. He didn't expect arno to take up on that offer, and yet after a small hesitation Arno did accept the food.



Arno didn't feel hungry in the slightest, but eating at least something would spare him from having to get himself something to eat. His shark tail began swaying for a little, as if he was a little grateful for this gesture, even if he couldn't express his thanks through words, even if the exhaustion was eating him alive.

"Listen, I don't know if I introduced myself earlier or not, but my name is Donn" the mortician began talking again. Arno just let him talk, he seemed to love talking, and if even just for a moment, it got Arno to stop thinking about what he could've done differently to save his friend’s life. He just quietly sat down at the table and let Donn talk. Arno doesn't even know for long this went on but, he did attempt to listen and that even if he couldn't bring himself to respond, and once Donn decided that it was time for him to leave, all that Arno quietly could get himself to do was hold a spare key to his apartment out to him.

He didn't explain it, but it was a silent plea for him to return. It was a silent cry for help. Arno knew himself too well, he had always just wanted to isolate himself whenever something went wrong and it never ended well.

And yet, after a short moment, Donn did decide to take the key, he quietly promised that he'd help and that without speaking a singular word. All he responded with was a nod and a ‘until tomorrow’.

» chapter 3: a Gamble [W.I.P]

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