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[disarrayed]

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[mygoodsir]

Outside. By the lake.

[disarrayed]

I need to see you.

[ everything feels too bright, too sharp, too real. from a month of being anything but himself, to a month of the commune and its roles, to death. will can't be sure that anything is real, that all of the dark and hungry thoughts he's had since arriving here are just that - the product of this place, and not the truth deep, deep, deep in his soul.

he moves slowly, the stomach wound healed but still feels angry and sore. he's pale, dark-eyed, curls a sweaty tousle. but there's harry, and he wants to trust it. wants to believe that the man he sees is the man he remembers. ]

Are Horace, Constance, and Arthur safe?

[ because what else can he do but stand there and apologize for being stabbed. ]

[mygoodsir]

[Harry watches Will approach with a lump in his throat. He sees that he's being cautious about his wound, sees the feel circles under his eyes.

Harry himself looks exhausted and in need of a shave. At Will's question he manages a smile, but his voice shakes.]

I'm afraid I let them go after the fire.

Will.

[He steps toward him, reaching tentatively for an embrace.]

[disarrayed]

I remember.

[ that he kept the snails safe, that he set them free in the wet grasses of the commune after the fire. it feels like a lifetime away, those months ago, and as harry steps toward him will follows suit, wraps arms around harry's middle and leans into him, burying his face into his shoulder. ]

Harry.

[mygoodsir]

[Harry has been holding it together. He walked beside Tim the whole way home, smelling Hawk's charred remains. At the manor, he set about checking in on people. Rebuilding a space that was comfortable to live in. He managed that while keeping a stiff upper lip, offering comfort without allowing himself to ask for any.

But Will saying his man's puts cracks in his armour and he finds himself hugging him back desperately. When he speaks his voice is choked.]

I am so sorry. I tried. I really tried.

[disarrayed]

[ he wraps his arms round the man, squeezes tightly. the first person he's seen face to face since all of this, and one of the most important. he read the letter, has it tucked into the pocket of his shirt to keep. he has so few things even in his life outside of his place, but those that are meaningful, he keeps. ]

I know.

[ a breath and he nuzzles in against Harry's hair next, nosing into it, breathing him in. he's real. he's a live. they're here together. a mantra he repeats over and over in his head. ]

You did a good job, Harry. You're safe. That's more important.

[mygoodsir]

[Harry tries to keep it together, he really does. But as he clings to Will his chest heaves a few times and then he's sobbing, unable to form words at all.]

[disarrayed]

[ will only holds harry tighter, buries his face into his hair. he reaches to hold the back of his head with one hand, keeping him molded and pressed close as he cries. yes, this is real. if this wasn’t, harry wouldn’t be crying like he is now. ]

Thank you for trying. Thank you for the letter. I -

[ a huff, as he tries to find the words. ]

We’re both safe now.

[mygoodsir]

I didn't. I didn't know. I got it all wrong and I didn't stop anyone, I didn't save anyone.

[He forces himself to breathe, pushing the panic away. He doesn't try to speak for a bit, nor does he try to pull away.]

Oh, Will. Will I am so thankful that you are back.

I missed you.

[disarrayed]

There’s no saving anyone here. There aren’t any winners. That’s not what they want. It’s all spectacle, pre-ordained. It has to be.

[ he’s been chewing on it for so long, trying to pick at this place and analyze it, to no avail. there aren’t any coherent, solid patterns, but there are themes. motifs. ]

You did everything you could with what you had.

[ he presses a kiss to his forehead, mouth resting there. ] They mean to make us monsters, just like they are.

[mygoodsir]

[Harry continues to cry, and it feels like bleeding out. His hands find Will's chest and bunch into the fabric of his shirt.]

They do. They do, and it's working.

[disarrayed]

No.

[ he runs a hand through harry’s curls, scratches at his scalp. funny the comfort he feels around this man. how he can look at him and feel the bleeding heart of him. there was no one like this at home - no one who saw the world with open eyes and so very little dark motive. ]

It isn’t. We’re still the same, at the core of it all. They won’t win every time.

[mygoodsir]

[Harry nods. Right now he doesn't believe it, but if Will does he thinks he can maybe pull himself back, can rediscover the light in people.

People are good, he tells himself, ignoring the part of him that finds it foolish.]

Yes. Yes, as you say.

[He exhales a shuddering breath and then sniffles. He lets go of Will to search his pockets for a handkerchief.]

My apologies, Will. You should not be the one to comfort me when it's you who has been through so much.

[disarrayed]

[ harry lets go but it gives will space to reach for the man's face, to thumb under his eyes and wipe tears from the skin there. funny how easy it is to feel raw and open around harry, but so much has happened in such a short time. ]

I'm fine now.

[ another swipe, then a tug forward, lips to his forehead. ]

I've been stabbed before. That one was much worse than this one.

[ except for the death part, maybe. but hannibal utterly gutted him and left him to bleed and bleed and bleed. ]

[mygoodsir]

Are you?

[Asked me in curiosity than in doubt.

His arms slip around Will's waist.]

I never stopped thinking of you.

What can I do for you now? You can ask for anything, anything at all.

[disarrayed]

[ he tightens his hold on the other man, smoothing a hand up his back, grounding himself in the person he first met here, and here he is meeting again after death. ]

You don't need to do anything for me.

[ why should he repay the house's debt? ]

We should probably figure out if our rooms are in one piece or not. [ a sigh, and he buries his face into harry's shoulder. the pain in his gut feels real still, even if it's all healed over. ]

Make a new place for new snails.

[mygoodsir]

But I want to. I swore I'd bring your killer to justice, and I didn't. I failed you, Will.

[Harry clings to him, a single sob escaping his throat. But when he can speak, he does so steadily enough.]

Oh. I've been given a room. A large one, with tanks and display shelves. We shall keep the smails there. It's our own little museum.

I. Tim's going to move into my room. Is that alright? Sharing the suite with the two of us? He's left Hawkins. So that's... I want to say it's good, because I'm pleased to have him, but... I feel awfully about it, too.