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[disarrayed]

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[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.