It was mortifyingly lovely. He felt ten shades of horrified and yet it was beautiful and he couldn't take his eyes away. Bulba sank with the Venusaur, completely captivated. A scream was building in his chest, full of denials and pleads. This wasn't all right. This was far from all right. It wasn't that he didn't understand it. He didn't want to understand it.

Because he knew. There was an inherent knowledge that was speaking softly from inside, steadying his shouts with a calm refrain. This was how life continued. This was how things were supposed to be.

But knowing wouldn't stop his heart from aching.

He reached out to Vinnie's shoulders to keep him still. The Grass Type could feel the soft, red flowers blossoming between his fingers and he thought he could hear their sudden bursts of song. Each one filled the ache and he wished he could cry.

His eyes were dry as he carefully lifted his hands. That calm hum kept the trembling from his fingers as he moved them tenderly over the contours of Vinnie's face. It was one he wanted to remember. One without the blood, with everything where it should have been.

"Please," he found himself whispering, his hands falling to hold what was left of him. He didn't know how to finish the plea. There were too many things he wanted to ask of the dying Venusaur. Please don't go. Wait. Tell him what to do. He didn't want to be the only one again. He didn't want him to go.

Please be happy.

Not knowing how else to express it, the younger saur leaned in and gently claimed him in a kiss. One act of intimacy to make up for the lack of another. He would have liked to have spoken to the heart of him one more time. He wasn't sure if Vinnie's flower would have heard him if he tried. Bulba was fairly certain it was its voice he thought he heard in the chorus erupting across the glade.

It sounded so nice.

"I'll miss you."