After this, I swear. Chiaroscuro is my top priority in terms of updating stories.

The Last Drop of Blood

…is mine. / It was a race to see who could fall asleep first. But both of them had been masters at euphemisms and understatements, hadn't they? Only…Maglor knew better—and was better, this time around. A/U

Maglor felt a sharp pinch at the inside of his wrist and resisted the urge to groan, pressing his palm to his mouth as he glared to his left at Maedhros.

"Stay awake," his brother reminded him.

Maedhros truly looked the part of a person who had singlehandedly fought the world and barely survived. But then again, Maglor supposed, he mirrored his brother almost exactly. With a small sigh, Maglor nodded and turned away. A question churned within his mind, digging deep for the caved in wells of his heart. Between the lines of an iron black, adamant cage and fighting against the urge to close his eyes and never open them again, he finally realized that a part of him needed this satisfaction, the answer to this inquiry that tugged at the very seams holding him together, threatening to pull him apart.

Who would die first?

Die.

Of course. It all boiled down to this.

Sleeping—no, it could not be called sleeping. Perhaps only the innocent—who were fortunate enough—could die in their sleep. Though Maglor did not understand why, he knew that Maedhros and he were a far cry from innocent.

So…what was this feeling?

Sadistic triumph?

Maybe. But he wasn't sure how long he could hold out.

He never thought that he would live forever.

No.

But a thousand worlds away, in another place where he didn't exist here, he knew that only the foolish would want to live forever—that he once lived until time grew old. But this novel feeling, taking root deep within his fingertips, letting his nails sink into the place where it ached the most… he was being selfish.

Let me be selfish this time, he pleaded with himself, looking over to Maedhros.

This time…?

—rising—

—rolling—

—crashing—

—waves, lapping—

—at his feet—

—sinking—

—to his knees—

This time.

He had to know.

"How do you feel, Maedhros?" Maglor queried solemnly, keeping his tone in check as he stared expressionlessly at the red-haired man before him.

Maedhros gave him a flat look, lined with suspicion and confusion, and repeated questioningly. "Maedhros?" Maglor stared blankly back at him, and he didn't question it anymore. "As if I am about to die." Don't die before me.

Putting their fear into perspective, Maglor turned to face the opposite wall again. Will you feel any regret like you did last time?

He smiled to himself, bowing his head.

I understand. Why should I be melancholy while the world is happy? Why should the world be happy while I am melancholy? I stand against myself as the world stands against every individual.

He turned to Maedhros and shook his shoulder. Maedhros looked to him, and an understanding passed between them. His mouth thinned as he stared at Maglor.

"No."

His voice, cold, harsh, like an icy hell.

It was all coming back now.

This time…

Maglor's smile widened, but it was unnatural, as if he were forcing himself to show emotion. Words flew between them effortlessly without a single sound made.

I'm dying. You can't. You are too. Don't fall asleep. Let me be first. The last drop of blood—

Maedhros grasped Maglor's shoulders and shook him. A sort of desperate, strangled laugh left Maglor's lips as he swiped his hand across Maedhros' chest, letting red blossom across his own tunic. Not this time.

"You can't."

Let me be selfish.

Why should the world be happy while I am melancholy?

Maglor inhaled deeply and leaned against Maedhros. "I just want to sleep for a while."

Wordlessly, Maedhros pushed him away.