Chapter Text
The last petal would fall at midnight. Cogsworth ran through the dark corridors of the West Wing, unable to discern which was pounding louder: the rain on the roof or the pendulum in his chest.
He didn’t know if Adam was still locked away in his bedroom. If Cogsworth was honest with himself, he didn’t much care either. They would all be doomed within seconds , and there was one thing he had to do—one person he had to see—if this was really his last chance to set it right. There wouldn’t be enough time for everything he needed to say: apologies, confessions, and… goodbyes.
What a fool he’d been. Forty-three years he’d spent running from his problems and towards some abstract feeling of accomplishment that he never could have achieved. He ran from home. He ran from the few people willing to call him a friend. And what had he gotten in the end? A countdown implanted in his brain and a guilt that twisted deeper into his gears with each day. 3755 days, and he’d been too much of a coward to face the truth. In less than a minute, they would die.
The doors to Adam’s bedroom were already thrown open, the rain pouring in from the balcony and forming puddles on the floor. Lightning flashed, and when the dark spots finally faded from his vision, the scene before him froze his legs to the floor. Adam’s colossal body lay slumped in the rain, dark blood seeping into his fur and cape. Belle was grasping at his shirt, lightly shaking him with one hand while the other cradled his face. Cogsworth could barely hear her mumbled pleas over the storm and her own broken sobs.
Lumiere turned to meet his eyes. Lumiere, who had always been bright, hopeful and confident, but all Cogsworth could find in his expression was defeat. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse, “Cogsworth…”
There were a million things he wanted to say, but the words were stuck in his throat. “…Lumiere.”
He broke into a sprint again. The ticking behind his eyes grew louder and louder as his thoughts raced in circles. He hoped, at least in this last moment, that Lumiere knew he had always cared. Even when they fought, even when he said the wrong thing, Cogsworth loved him. He still didn’t know how, or in what way, but he did. Lumiere was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Lumiere had stayed with him through everything, even when he hadn’t deserved that kindness. Cogsworth wished he had time to repay that, to tell him everything, but there was only room for one thought pounding in his head,
I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m—
His legs locked. His ticking slowed to every other second, then every three seconds, and he realized with growing horror that he could no longer draw in breath. The gears behind his face ground to a slow stop, freezing his mouth still open. He watched—barely able to feel it anymore—as his outstretched arm twitched from shoulder to fingertips and finally went still.
The flame went out.