[It's still hard to think about him too directly. When he allows himself to think of anything more specific than just the need to find him, when he thinks of how no one else has ever understood him and shared the things he loves so effortlessly, or remembers playing dress-up in the fancy clothing stores and picnics out in the wilderness and cuddling in the grass, of sneaking out of noble parties together, the loss becomes too much, too raw and too deep to bear.]
[And the longer people insist on talking about it, the more the memories and the grief come up to the surface, no matter how hard he tries to fight them. He thinks of Death on outstretched wings, with cold blue eyes, sucking all the life out of the air itself -- not him, not him, please not him, anyone else...]
[How is he supposed to be okay? How can they even ask that of him?]
[His face is wet, and his breathing is wrong, nothing at all and then too much at once. It takes him a moment or two to figure out why.]
I don't -- I don't need your pity! I don't want it! Just...
[Just what? Leave him alone? He doesn't want that, especially not from Waver, but what does he want?]
no subject
[And the longer people insist on talking about it, the more the memories and the grief come up to the surface, no matter how hard he tries to fight them. He thinks of Death on outstretched wings, with cold blue eyes, sucking all the life out of the air itself -- not him, not him, please not him, anyone else...]
[How is he supposed to be okay? How can they even ask that of him?]
[His face is wet, and his breathing is wrong, nothing at all and then too much at once. It takes him a moment or two to figure out why.]
I don't -- I don't need your pity! I don't want it! Just...
[Just what? Leave him alone? He doesn't want that, especially not from Waver, but what does he want?]