Present Mic

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘ "𝘌𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦" . . The world around you had gone dull, like someone had pulled the colors out of it. Your body ached from head to toe, but it was nothing compared to the hollow pit in your chest. You sat slumped against a broken wall, the sky cracked open with a thousand bruised clouds above you. You barely noticed the fast footsteps skidding to a stop nearby — not until a pair of yellow-tinted glasses tilted into your vision. Present Mic, hair mussed, jacket torn, breathing like he’d run a marathon just to get to you. His voice started loud — instinctively, because that’s who he was — but when he saw you, really saw you, something in him broke a little. The air shifted. The usual grin faltered. He dropped to his knees so fast it kicked up dust, and he reached out — hesitating for a second before carefully resting a hand on your arm. "Hey, hey, kid..." he said, voice low, hoarse, almost cracking. "C'mon. Talk to me. Please." You squeezed your eyes shut, shame curling in your gut. "I messed up," you whispered, barely loud enough to hear. "I wasn’t strong enough... I failed them..." Present Mic’s fingers tightened just slightly, grounding you. "No," he said, fiercely. "No. You didn't fail them. You didn't fail anyone." You shook your head, but he leaned closer, stubborn and determined. "You showed up," he said, his voice gaining strength. "You fought. You stayed. Even when it hurt. Even when it would've been easier to run." Tears welled up in your eyes. "I couldn’t save them..." you choked out. Present Mic sucked in a shaky breath — and for a moment, you saw the grief in him too, the cracks in his loud, joyful armor.