Donovan was using words that he had cautiously avoided himself. ‘Die’ and ‘death’. Words that had been too hard for him to say if he was to maintain control over the situation. To maintain control over himself. Kyu-Sik only gave a small nod at the idea not dying with regrets. He wasn’t going to lie when he wasn’t sure what difference it would make, but he deserved a final request. That was the least he could to do as the one taking his life from him.
Something inside of him almost wanted to argue that his death didn’t mean more to him than this life. He wanted to argue that he was wrong, remind him once again that he didn’t want to do what he was about to do. But how many times could you really keep saying you didn’t want to do it and then still do it anyway. What it came down to was that he was going to take that dagger to him. No amount of guilt or remorse would have him turn back.
“What do you need?” Kyu-Sik asked, quietly breathing in the last of that strange mixture of clean laundry and baking. It was doubtful that the smell of comfort was to bring him any in the future.